Emma shook her head.
“No.”
“Next week?”
“No.”
Patricia looked toward Ryan.
He simply said,
“Don’t make her say it again.”
Patricia swallowed.
“Okay.”
Then Emma added,
“And you won’t be at the hospital when I give birth.”
Patricia froze.
“Emma…”
“You were invited because I trusted you.”
“I’m his grandmother.”
Emma’s expression hardened.
“That doesn’t make my delivery room public property.”
Patricia started to protest.
Ryan stood.
“Mom.”
That was all he had to say.
She stopped.
Then she left.
The second the door closed, Emma collapsed against me.
“I feel so stupid.”
I wrapped my arms around her.
“For what?”
“I kept wondering if maybe she was right.”
“She wasn’t.”
Emma looked down.
“Mom, I started skipping breakfast whenever we knew we were going to see her.”
I pulled back.
“What?”
“I knew she would say something if I looked bigger.”
Ryan looked devastated.
“I started weighing myself every morning,” Emma continued.
“Does your doctor know?” I asked.
She shook her head.
Ryan immediately said,
“We’ll tell her.”
Emma looked at him.
“We?”
He caught himself.
“You can tell her. If you want me there, I’ll come with you.”
That correction mattered.
I watched some of the tension disappear from my daughter’s face.
Later that evening, Dr. Shah called again.
She personally apologized.
She reassured Emma that her pregnancy was progressing normally and that her weight gain was appropriate for her circumstances.
More importantly, she reminded Emma that none of those numbers were Patricia’s business.
The clinic offered to transfer Emma’s care if she no longer felt comfortable there.
Emma chose to stay with Dr. Shah.
Marcy was fired the following week.
The clinic opened an internal privacy investigation and formally notified Emma about the unauthorized access to her records.
Patricia called twice.
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