Chapter 8
Dr. Bennett asked Dad and me to sit down.
I could tell from his expression that the conversation would be serious.
He explained that the laboratory had identified an additional substance in one of the retained samples.
It wasn't appropriate for the product to be used by children without medical oversight.
He didn't give me a complicated explanation.
He simply said the formula contained an ingredient that had not appeared on the information Rochelle originally provided.
Dad looked furious.
“Was it dangerous?”
“The amount and pattern of exposure require further medical evaluation. We are coordinating with the relevant specialists and investigators.”
I looked at the doctor.
“Is that why my stomach hurt?”
“It may have contributed. We are still reviewing all the findings.”
Dad held my hand.
“Are you going to be okay?”
The doctor smiled gently.
“Malik is improving, and we're monitoring him closely.”
I nodded.
I wanted to believe him.
After the doctor left, Dad called the investigator.
He explained the new finding.
The investigator said they would request the remaining product samples and compare them with the original packaging and records.
Mom was asked to provide every message she had received from Rochelle.
She agreed.
For the first time, she didn't make excuses.
She handed over her phone and explained how Rochelle had persuaded her to continue using the formula.
Dad listened without interrupting.
Then he asked her something.
“Did you ever tell Rochelle that Malik was getting worse?”
Mom nodded.
“Several times.”
“What did she say?”
“She told me to keep following the instructions.”
Dad closed his eyes.
I looked at Mom.
“Why didn't you stop?”
She began crying.
“I should have.”
It was the first time she had answered without defending herself.
That evening, I received another visit from Jordan.
He brought a basketball magazine and a bag of snacks approved by my medical team.
“Coach says you're missing practice.”
I laughed.
“Tell him I'll be back soon.”
Jordan sat beside me.
Then he looked toward Dad.
“Mr. Carter, is Malik okay?”
Dad smiled.
“He's getting stronger.”
Jordan nodded.
“Good. We need him.”
After he left, I opened the magazine.
For a while, I forgot about the hospital.
I read about basketball players.
I looked at pictures of courts.
I imagined returning to practice.
Then my phone vibrated.
It was a message from an unknown number.
I don't know how to send pictures.
I opened it.
There was an image of a small bottle.
It looked similar to the one I remembered seeing in the kitchen.
Beneath it was a message.
Your aunt isn't telling the whole story.
I stared at the screen.
My stomach tightened.
“Dad?”
He looked over.
“What is it?”
I showed him.
His expression changed.
He immediately took a screenshot and forwarded it to the investigator.
“Don't respond.”
I nodded.
A few minutes later, the investigator called.
They asked where the message had come from.
Dad explained.
The investigator said they were aware of another person who might have information about the product.
Cynthia Reed.
The woman who had helped Rochelle package and deliver it.
She had contacted them that morning.
Apparently, she had kept copies of several supplier invoices.
Dad asked what was on them.
The investigator said they were still reviewing the documents.
But one invoice listed an ingredient that hadn't appeared in Rochelle's marketing materials.
Dad looked toward Mom.
She began shaking her head.
“I didn't know.”
Dad didn't accuse her.
He simply said, “Then help them establish the truth.”
The following day, Cynthia gave investigators a formal statement.
She explained that she had helped prepare and package the formula.
She said Rochelle had instructed her to leave certain ingredients off the promotional labels because customers would find the names confusing.
Cynthia also admitted that she had questioned the product's suitability for children.
According to her statement, Rochelle dismissed those concerns.
The investigators began reviewing the business records and supplier information.
Rochelle's attorney later contacted the authorities.
She would no longer answer questions without legal representation.
Dad understood.
He wasn't trying to conduct the investigation himself.
He wanted the truth established properly.
Two days later, I was discharged.
The doctors were satisfied that my condition had improved enough for me to continue recovering at home under medical follow-up.
Dad carried my bag.
I walked slowly beside him.
When we reached the hospital entrance, I stopped.
I looked back at the building.
I remembered arriving doubled over in pain.
I remembered being terrified.
And I remembered Dad holding my hand.
He noticed me standing still.
“You okay?”
I nodded.
“I'm ready to go home.”
He smiled.
“Then let's go.”
But when we reached the car, I noticed Mom standing beside the passenger door.
She was holding a small bag.
I looked at Dad.
He spoke gently.
“Your mother is going to stay with us temporarily under some clear boundaries. We'll discuss everything with your doctors and the family counselor.”
I wasn't sure how I felt.
Mom approached slowly.
“I won't bring anything for you to eat or drink without your father's agreement and your medical team's instructions.”
I looked at her.
“Okay.”
She nodded.
We got into the car.
May you like
For the first time in weeks, I was going home.
But I didn't know whether home would ever feel the same again.
