Chapter 7
My father read the message again.
Then he looked at Mom.
“What first bottle?”
She covered her mouth.
“Marcus…”
“Tell me.”
Mom started crying.
I sat up.
I didn't want another secret.
I was tired of adults whispering in hallways.
“Please just tell him.”
Mom looked at me.
Then she nodded.
She explained that the first bottle Rochelle had given her was not the same as the later formula.
It had been a concentrated mixture.
Rochelle told her to use only a small amount.
But Mom had misunderstood the instructions.
For several mornings, she had given me more than the recommended quantity.
When I complained about the taste, Rochelle told her to dilute it.
Mom had followed those instructions.
Dr. Bennett, who had just entered the room, immediately asked her to provide the exact dates and quantities.
Mom couldn't remember everything.
But she admitted that she had never kept a written record.
Dad stared at her.
“You knew the drink was causing discomfort?”
Mom began sobbing.
“I thought it was temporary.”
“And you kept giving it to him?”
“She said his body needed time to adjust.”
Dad stepped away.
I looked at him.
He was shaking.
“Dad?”
He turned toward me immediately.
“I'm okay, son.”
He wasn't.
But he came back and sat beside me.
The doctor explained that the additional information was important for interpreting the medical findings.
He asked Mom to cooperate fully.
She agreed.
Then he ordered another review of the earlier samples and documentation.
I felt exhausted.
Every new conversation seemed to reveal another reason I had been sick.
I wanted to stop thinking about it.
I wanted to go home.
I wanted to play basketball.
I wanted my mother to be my mother again.
But I didn't know if that was possible.
That evening, Mom asked if she could speak with me alone.
I looked at Dad.
He told me I could decide.
I agreed, but I asked him to stay nearby.
Mom sat beside my bed.
“Malik, I want you to know something.”
I looked at her.
“I never wanted you to suffer.”
I said nothing.
“I thought I was helping you. Rochelle made me believe I was doing something good.”
“Why didn't you ask Dad?”
She looked down.
“Because I was embarrassed about the money I owed her.”
“Why didn't you tell him about that?”
“Because I was afraid.”
I frowned.
“You were afraid of Dad?”
“Not that he would hurt me. I was afraid he would be disappointed.”
I looked at her.
“He's disappointed now.”
She started crying.
“I know.”
I stared at the blanket.
“Do you know what I was afraid of?”
She shook her head.
“Every morning, when you brought that drink, I wanted to say no.”
Her lips trembled.
“But you told me I was being difficult.”
She covered her face.
“I know.”
“I thought you would get angry if I didn't finish it.”
She began sobbing.
I didn't feel happy seeing her cry.
I didn't feel powerful.
I just felt sad.
“I'm not ready to forgive you,” I whispered.
She nodded.
“I understand.”
“But I want you to stop lying.”
“I will.”
“Even if Aunt Rochelle gets angry?”
Mom looked at me.
“Yes.”
I nodded.
That was all I could offer.
The next morning, Dad received a call from the investigator.
Rochelle had agreed to an interview.
But there was another development.
The business records showed that she had received payments from dozens of families.
Some customers had purchased the formula through social media.
Others had received it through friends and relatives.
The investigators were examining whether the product had been represented as safe for children without adequate testing or documentation.
Dad immediately asked whether the company had been distributing it through local stores.
The answer was uncertain.
They were checking.
Then the investigator mentioned another name.
A woman named Cynthia Reed.
She had helped Rochelle package and deliver the product.
Dad wrote it down.
“Does she know what was in it?”
“We're trying to establish that.”
Later, a nurse came to tell me that I might be discharged soon if my improvement continued.
I smiled.
“Really?”
She nodded.
“Your doctors are encouraged by your progress.”
Dad hugged me carefully.
“Looks like pancakes are getting closer.”
I laughed.
But our happiness lasted only a few minutes.
A hospital administrator entered.
She spoke quietly to Dad.
“Mr. Carter, someone is asking to visit your son.”
Dad frowned.
“Who?”
“Your sister-in-law.”
I looked up.
“Aunt Rochelle?”
The administrator nodded.
Dad immediately refused.
“She isn't authorized to visit him.”
The woman nodded.
“We've informed her.”
A few minutes later, I heard shouting outside.
Rochelle's voice.
“You can't keep me away from my nephew!”
Security intervened.
Dad walked to the door.
I followed him with my eyes.
Rochelle appeared in the hallway.
She looked furious.
“Marcus, I need to explain.”
Dad stood in front of the doorway.
“You've had plenty of opportunities.”
“You're letting Denise blame everything on me!”
“I'm letting the evidence speak.”
Rochelle glanced at me.
“Malik, tell your father I would never hurt you.”
I looked at her.
I remembered the strange drink.
The pain.
The mornings I had begged Mom to stop.
I shook my head.
“You didn't listen when I was hurting.”
Her expression changed.
Then she turned toward Dad.
“You're going to regret choosing her over family.”
Dad answered quietly.
“My son is my family.”
Security escorted her away.
I watched until she disappeared.
Then I looked at Dad.
“Can we go home now?”
He smiled sadly.
“Soon, buddy.”
But the moment I thought everything was finally getting better, the doctor entered with an update.
May you like
The new laboratory review had found something else.
Something that suggested the formula might have contained an ingredient Rochelle had never disclosed.
