Chapter 3 - The Lawsuit No One Knew About
The person Martha called was her younger sister, Rachel Monroe.
Rachel was forty and lived fifteen minutes away in Hinsdale.
She answered expecting another complaint about Eli.
Instead Martha said:
“Get to the hospital before these people ruin us.”
Not ruin me.
Us.
Rachel heard it.
“What happened?”
“That ER doctor thinks she’s discovered abuse because of a stupid piece of fabric.”
Rachel sat upright.
“What fabric?”
Silence.
Then Martha said, “I need you here.”
Rachel drove to the hospital.
She found Martha in the family waiting area looking immaculate except for one broken pearl clasp at her collar.
“What happened to Eli?”
“He’s fine.”
“Then why is a social worker here?”
Martha’s jaw tightened.
“They’re overreacting.”
Rachel had heard that sentence many times.
Eli overreacted.
Teachers overreacted.
The school nurse overreacted.
Rachel had believed some of it because Martha had always been the organized sister.
The one who remembered birthdays.
The one who handled their mother’s medication schedule.
The one who had raised Eli mostly alone after her divorce.
Rachel had spent years assuming competent meant trustworthy.
A hospital social worker approached.
“Are you Rachel Monroe?”
“Yes.”
“Eli identified you as someone he feels safe with.”
Martha’s head snapped around.
Rachel felt something shift.
“Can I see him?”
“Possibly. We need to speak first.”
Martha stood.
“She is not taking my son.”
Nobody had suggested that.
Not yet.
Rachel looked at her sister.
“What did you put under his cast?”
Martha’s face went blank.
That told Rachel enough to stop asking in public.
An hour later, a child-protection investigator arrived.
Eli remained in the hospital.
Martha was informed she could not be alone with him while the immediate safety assessment continued.
She reacted exactly as Rachel expected.
She cried.
Then threatened.
Then accused Sarah.
Then accused the orthopedic clinic.
That last accusation was unusually specific.
“They already damaged his nerves,” Martha said. “Now they’re trying to blame me.”
Rachel turned.
“What are you talking about?”
Martha stopped.
Sarah, standing nearby, heard it too.
“What nerve damage?”
Martha looked at both women.
Then sighed as if they were exhausting her.
“We’re in the middle of a malpractice claim.”
Rachel stared at her.
“We?”
“Eli and me.”
“Since when?”
“Three months.”
The fracture was only five weeks old.
Rachel’s confusion must have shown.
Martha corrected herself quickly.
“I mean we’ve been talking to attorneys for months about different issues.”
Too late.
Rachel had caught it.
Later, alone with Eli, she sat beside his bed.
He looked smaller without the bulky cast.
“Aunt Rachel?”
“I’m here.”
“Is Mom mad?”
“She’s upset.”
Eli nodded as if he had expected that.
Then he whispered:
“She says the bad hand is worth more.”
Rachel felt her stomach turn.
“What does that mean?”
Eli stared at his blue fingertips as circulation slowly returned.
“I don’t know.”
But Rachel suddenly did.
Or at least she understood enough to be afraid.
May you like
Her sister had not simply hidden neglect.
She might have been manufacturing it.
