—Yes, that position is specifically designed to prevent the subject from rolling or falling during a seizure. It's not designed to immobilize.
The technician documented everything meticulously. Mark placed a notebook on the bedside table.
She opened it and saw pages filled with everyday writing: dates, times, notes about tremors, confusion, moments when Emma had woken up outside her room without remembering how she got there.
A complete medical record consisted of: Dr. Lou's appointment cards and a series of pages printed from a medical team's website.
The headline read: “Safety Bed Options for Pediatric Patients with Seizures.” The pages were underlined, the corners folded, and the margins scribbled with notes like “Consult your doctor” and “This is not covered by your policy.”
“It wasn't done lightly,” Lipida said softly. “Someone invested time in this.”
They headed toward the hallway, where Lida's attention was drawn to the metal bolt high on Emma's bedroom door. Her expression hardened.
“This,” he said firmly, striking him with his hand, “is a serious violation. Fire hazard, emergency access problem. Whatever the problem, it can't be stopped.”
Mark felt uncomfortable.
-OK.
When they went out to talk to the neighbors, one of them opened the next door before they could knock. Mrs. Porter was standing there, arms crossed, concern written on her face.
“I saw the police last night,” he said. “I was wondering when they'd be back.”
Mark briefly explained why he was there. Mrs. Porter sighed.
I've seen that map carry that girl in more than once. Mid-flight, barefoot, with a blank look, as if she weren't awake. —He shook his head slowly—. He seemed terrified each time, not angry, just scared.
Later, at the police station, Todd Blake sat in the interrogation room, his posture defensive. He stared at the table, his fists clenched, as if maintaining his composure had drained all his energy.
“I was wrong,” he finally said softly. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”
Mark let the silence stretch before asking:
—Tell me about pajamas.
Todd let out a soft sigh.
The labels and circles irritate her skin when she has seizures. I thought a loose-fitting T-shirt would be easier. I thought saying, “You don’t need pajamas” would be awkward, like a sleepover. —Her voice broke.— I couldn’t hear how she was dreaming.
“And the lock?” asked Liпda with a serious expression.
Todd felt uncomfortable and embarrassment showed on his face.
She left the office. She was almost out on the street. I looked at her. I didn't know it was illegal. I didn't think about the consequences. I just thought that if I could keep her in her room, I could keep her alive.
Mark exchanged a glance with Lipda. The truth was dawning. It wasn't clear or reassuring, but it was real. It wasn't cruelty. It was fear mixed with anger and a desperate need for protection.
Dr. Lou stared silently at the tablet screen before speaking.
“Todd,” she said, “your accomplishments are important, but they don’t erase the impact.” Emma was terrified.
Todd was surprised and his eyes became moist.
—Now I see it.
Mark jumped back in his chair; the weight of the suitcase had been accepted differently than the night before.
The image that had screamed "dagger" had transformed into something more complex: an imperfect example of healing, full of love and peace rather than malice. Dr. Lou's voice rang softly from the speaker.
“We have a mafia pig here,” he said. “We have a terrified pineapple and an adult who loves her so much that he's made terrible, but correctable, mistakes.”
Mark exhaled slowly, knowing the hardest part was yet to come. Accepting the truth didn't erase the fear Emma had felt, but it opened the door to something else, an opportunity to make things right.
The small playroom in the pediatric ward was painted in soft colors to calm the children who had already drunk too much.
That's when I had to break stuffed animals with stuffed animals, like a teddy bear with crayons and some stuffed animals that I had been hugging for a long time.
Emma sat apart at the children's table, carefully coloring her lips, her shoulders tense and slightly hunched, as if preparing for the unexpected. Every time she heard footsteps in the hallway, her eyes turned to the door.
Dapa Miller stood outside the room for a moment, looking through the glass. Seeing Emma in that state—calm, alert, trying to make herself small—she hid something inside herself.
It was the same look she'd seen years before, in another boy's eyes, on another phone call she'd wanted to forget. She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and knocked softly on the door before meeting Rachel Brooks.
"Hi, Emma," Dapa greeted calmly. "Do you mind if we stay with you for a bit?"
Emma remained still, not looking up, moving the crayons cautiously from side to side. Rachel sat beside her, close, though she could hear her, but she was overwhelmed, her hands twitching in her lap.
The guilt on his face was unmistakable. The weight of every car. Every car he'd dreamed of, crushing everything in the office.
A moment later, Officer Mark Harris approached and crouched down at Emma's eye level. He didn't rush. He knew this part was as important as anything else outside.
"Emma," he said calmly, "I was hoping you'd hear that from me. You did something very helpful last night."
Emma's crayon stopped. She looked at him, of course.
-Did I do it?
“You did it,” Mark said. “When you were scared, you asked for help. It was the right thing to do. You didn't cause any harm to anyone else. You kept yourself safe.”
Her lower lip was trembling.
—I thought maybe… maybe Todd would get angry or my mother.
Then Rachel reached out her hand and placed it gently on Emma's back.
“Oh, darling,” she whispered. “I’m not mad at you. I’m so proud of you.”
Emma swallowed hard.
“The bed felt like a cage,” she said softly. “And when she said she didn't need pajamas, I had the feeling that… something bad was about to happen.”
Mark was surprised to hear that.
—I'm sorry I scared you.
The door opened again, and this time Todd Blake entered, accompanied by Lipda Perez of CPS. He looked smaller, without the look or defensiveness he had displayed before.
His shoulders were hunched, his eyes red, and his hands clenched, as if he didn't trust their firm hold. Emma noticed it immediately.
She was trembling, her fingers gripping the paper. Todd stopped a few feet away, careful not to overwhelm her.
“Hello, little one,” he said hoarsely. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”
Emma looked at Mark and then at her mother. Rachel was a little surprised.
—I'm right here.
Todd crouched, uncomfortable and safe, clearly out of his element.
“I want you to know something first,” she said. “I'm not sorry you called 911. Not at all. I'm glad you did. I'm glad you're okay.”
Emma studied his face as if trying to decide whether to believe him or not.
“I wanted to make a safe bed,” Todd commented, stumbling over his words. “And that baggy T-shirt? I thought it would be easier for you if you had a seizure, but I ruined it.”
I didn't explain anything to you. I didn't listen to you when you were scared, and it's my fault. —His voice broke a little— I'm still learning how to do this. How to be there for you.
For a long moment no one spoke. Emma asked in a low voice:
—So, did I have any problems?
“No,” Todd said firmly. “You weren’t.”
Lipda gently cleared her throat, changing the subject. She explained the situation clearly, without judgment, but also without evasions.
Emma's door would be immediately removed from the lock. Todd and Rachel would attend safety and prevention courses. CPS would make regular home visits and coordinate closely with Dr. Lou to approve any future safety equipment.
The most important thing is that Emma is included in every explanation, in every change, in every word that might be included.
Rachel began to cry, accepting it all without hesitation. Emma listened, absorbing the parts she didn't fully understand, but she understood enough to know that this was the end of the world. It was a beginning.
Later that night, as Rachel drove them home, the car was silent except for the hum of the tires on the sidewalk. Emma watched the streetlights pass by her window. The fear had vanished, replaced by a weary heaviness. After a while, she spoke.
-Mother.
-Yes sweetie.
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