She led me into a small consultation room and shut the door behind us. Her face shifted into the careful neutrality doctors wear when they are about to say something terrible.
“Sophie was brought in at three a.m. by her father. She had been experiencing extreme fatigue, frequent nosebleeds, and bruising for several weeks. Mr. Pierce thought it was just a virus. By the time he brought her in, her white blood cell count had dropped to dangerously low levels.”
“Several weeks?” I felt my hands clench into fists. “He waited weeks?”
Dr. Whitman’s expression remained professionally neutral, but I saw something flicker in her eyes.
“I’m not at liberty to comment on Mr. Pierce’s decisions. What matters now is Sophie’s treatment. She needs a bone marrow transplant. We need to test you, Mr. Pierce, and ideally her sister Ruby. Siblings are often the best match.”
“Graham has sole custody,” I said quietly. “I haven’t been allowed near the girls in two years. There’s a restraining order.”
“I’m aware.” Dr. Whitman leaned forward. “But this is a medical emergency. You are Sophie’s biological mother and a potential donor. The restraining order does not supersede her right to life-saving medical care. You have every legal right to be here.”
“Does Graham know you called me?”
“Not yet. He left around six this morning to get Ruby from his sister’s house. He should be back within the hour.”
Which meant I had less than sixty minutes with my daughter before I had to face the man who had stolen two years of my life.
