Chapter 3 - THE NOTES FROM SCHOOL
Elodie stayed in the hospital five more days.
Her oxygen requirement decreased.
Her fever disappeared.
Physically, she improved.
Emotionally, she clung to me every time I moved toward the door.
“Bathroom,” I would say.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Coffee?”
“Five minutes.”
“Promise?”
Every absence had become dangerous.
I hated myself for not understanding sooner.
Then her school counselor called.
“I heard there was a family issue at the hospital.”
I immediately became defensive.
“What did you hear?”
“That Vivian’s access to Elodie was restricted.”
“How?”
“Vivian emailed me.”
Of course she had.
“What did she say?”
The counselor hesitated.
“She believes Elodie has developed a pattern of exaggerating physical symptoms to avoid expectations.”
My chair scraped backward.
“She told the school that?”
“Several times.”
“How long?”
“Since last winter.”
I had never been copied.
The counselor sent me the communications because I was Elodie’s parent.
There were eleven emails.
Vivian described:
“dramatic coughing.”
“selective weakness.”
“dependency behaviors.”
“excessive emotional displays.”
One email said:
Nathan’s grief makes it difficult for him to distinguish genuine symptoms from attention-seeking.
I read that line until the words stopped looking English.
Vivian was not merely criticizing my parenting to relatives.
She had created a record.
Not official medical evidence.
But a narrative.
The school counselor had responded carefully.
She documented that Elodie’s asthma action plan came from her physician and that staff would follow it.
She also recommended grief counseling.
Vivian replied:
Counseling is part of the problem. Every adult keeps rewarding emotion.
Another clue.
Elodie’s teacher had noticed something too.
On Mondays after staying with Vivian, Elodie sometimes arrived without Mr. Gray.
Or without jewelry.
Or unusually quiet.
When asked, she said:
“Grandma keeps things until I behave.”
I closed my laptop.
I wanted to drive to my mother’s house immediately.
Instead, I called the therapist Elodie had seen after Laura died.
Dr. Hannah Meyers.
She remembered Vivian.
Too well.
“She attended two sessions.”
“Why?”
“You asked that family caregivers understand Elodie’s grief plan.”
I had.
“What happened?”
“Vivian strongly disagreed with my approach.”
“What approach?”
“Allowing age-appropriate reassurance and comfort.”
I almost laughed from disbelief.
“What did she want?”
“For me to discourage what she called ‘grief performances.’”
My throat tightened.
“Did you tell her Elodie was performing?”
“No.”
“Did you ever diagnose attention-seeking behavior?”
“No.”
Then Dr. Meyers said:
“I gave Vivian the opposite message.”
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The deeper pattern had started years before the hospital.
And my mother had been presenting her personal interpretation as though professionals supported it.
