Love & All Things Broken

The emergency department at Berkshire Medical Center was quiet—we were definitely not in Boston. The makeshift room separated Macy from other patients with surrounding curtains. When Caden and I had entered the hospital, looking for her with Detective Morrison, my stomach was in knots. Still trapped in the whirlwind of the night, it was too hard to even unpack everything that had happened so quickly.

When we found Macy, she was lying back on a hospital bed that would be small for me, but looked like it was ready to engulf her little body. She looked over at us and her eyes lit up. Caden broke down into a blubbering mess of emotions. He ran to her bed and pulled himself up short, stopping before he might hurt her if he embraced her. He ran his hands lightly over her arms, shoulders, and head.

The hospital had called to get verbal consent to treat her when we were on the way, so we knew what her injuries were already. But seeing it in real life is so very different. It's hard to even describe. She had a bandage on the side of her head, bruising that ran down her temple close to her eye. Her arm was in a cast, from fingers almost to her elbow. She had an IV in the other arm—the nurse explained that Macy was somewhat dehydrated so they were giving her fluids.

Caden leaned forward and kissed his daughter's forehead. "I am so sorry, honey. I'm so sorry for everything you have been through." He laid his head on top of hers, I could tell he was trying to be careful of all her injuries. "We love you so much. Everything is going to be okay."

We sat quietly as the nurse came in and took her vitals again. Once we were alone, I asked, "does it still hurt, sweetheart?" adjusting the blanket around her for the third time in ten minutes.

"Not really—not anymore, that is. The medicine they gave me helped. It was so bad before, Felicity." She looked up at me with droopy eyes that were fighting to stay open. She whispered, "but it's much better now."

"That's good, honey. You tell us if that changes, okay?"

"Okay. Felicity?"

"Yes honey?" I leaned closer.

"Are you and Dad still fighting?"

Caden and I exchanged glances over her bed. The question took me aback for a minute, though it shouldn't have.

"We're working on things," I said carefully. "But right now, we're just focused on you."

"Good. Because I was scared you might not want to be my family anymore."

My throat tightened, and I tried, and failed, to blink back tears. "Oh, honey. Nothing can change that. You're stuck with us, whether you like it or not."

She smiled sleepily, the first real smile I'd seen from her since we'd arrived at the hospital. "Even if my mom did bad things?"

"Especially then," Caden said firmly, his voice thick with emotion. "What your mom did wasn't about you—and it has nothing to do with how much we love you."

"Did she really take a lot of money, Dad?"

Caden's jaw tightened, but his voice stayed gentle. I could tell he was trying to figure out what to share and how. He looked to me, I nodded in response—at this point, with all she has been through, it didn't seem right not to tell her at least something. "Yes, she did. But that's not something for you to worry about, okay? The grown-ups will figure all that out."

"Is that why she was acting so weird? Because she was scared about money?"

I looked at Caden, both of us struggling with how much to explain. "We don't know everything yet, honey. I think we have a long way ahead of us before we understand all the things that happened and why your mom was acting the way she was. What we do know, is that your mom was taking medicine that wasn't good for her," I said finally. "The doctors said that the types of medicines and the amounts she had been taking probably made her confused and scared, and she made some bad choices because of it."

"Like taking me away?"

"Like taking you away," Caden confirmed. "She thought she was protecting you, but she wasn't thinking clearly."

A nurse came back in with some food for Macy, her soft-soled shoes squeaking against the linoleum. The hospital felt smaller than the ones I was used to in Boston—more personal somehow.

"How are we feeling, sweetheart?" the nurse asked, checking the monitors again and scanning her bracelet. Her name tag read "Patricia" and she had the kind of gentle manner that made you feel like your grandmother was taking care of you.

"Tired. And my head feels weird."

"That's normal after a bump like you had. I thought you might want something to eat now, we don't have much up here but I brought you a turkey sandwich, some graham crackers and a pudding. I also found a ginger ale in our fridge that I thought you might like to have." Winking at Macy, she started to lay everything out in front of her on the bedside tray. Thank God for nurses. I swear they do angels' work.

Going to the computer, she took down some notes. "Now don't worry, the weird feeling should go away in a day or two." She made notes on her chart. "Try to get some rest, okay? You've been through a lot tonight. You're a brave little girl." She lightly tapped Macy's shoulder, smiled, and left the room.

As Patricia left, Caden's phone buzzed. He glanced at it, and I saw his expression shift.

"David," he said quietly to me, showing me the text.

David: Emergency custody petition filed. Hearing is 9 AM tomorrow. You don't need to be present - stay with Macy. Police reports and hospital records will help. Send me pics of what you have just for the time being, I will work on official records later.

Relief washed over Caden's face like a physical thing. "He's moving fast."

"That's good," I said. That's exactly what we need—I thought... though I could tell from his expression it was very good.

"Very good. This means we'll have legal authority to make decisions for her by morning. No one can question our right to be here, to make medical choices, nothing."

"What's that about?" Macy asked, her voice small.

"Just my lawyer making sure you're protected," Caden said, moving to sit on the edge of her bed. "He's working to make sure you can stay with us."

"I want to stay with you and Felicity," she said, and something in my chest cracked open.

"Absolutely, honey."

Through the window, I could see the parking lot of the small hospital, mostly empty except for a few cars scattered under the streetlights. The mountains of Western Massachusetts rose in the distance, dark silhouettes against the night sky. It was so different from Boston—quieter, more peaceful. Had it really only been six hours since we'd raced through the night to get here? It felt like a lifetime.

I thought about Jessica, somewhere else in this same building, probably in whatever passed for a psychiatric unit in a hospital this size. I want to say I'm a bigger person and not angry at Jessica—that having a substance abuse disorder is its own trial, but I can't. I am fuming inside.

I know it isn't the same thing, or even on the same wavelength—but I think of how often Caden and I tried for pregnancy, the rounds of IVF, knowing that my body is broken. I was diagnosed with Primary Ovarian Insufficiency years ago. After IUI and then five rounds of IVF, we had to accept that no amount of intervention would ever be enough for us.

I think of how much I have always wanted to be a mom. That it was a dream of mine to someday hold a baby of my own in my hands, watch them grow up, be a part of their lives and see something so beautiful in my child as joy or love. Then I see someone like Jessica—she had that. And she used manipulation to get what she wanted, she stole almost half a million dollars, she exposed her eleven-year-old to drugs. My God! Macy could have taken something, just following what her mom did.

I think of how her actions led her where she was. I look at Macy and see her, bruised with a broken arm—this little girl shoved into a scenario and a situation that she should never have to have experienced. No, I can't find pity or empathy in me. Not right now. Not in this moment. Maybe later, maybe I'll see Jessica as something else later. But not today. Today, I'm angry. Angry at Jessica, and angry on behalf of Macy.

"Felicity?" Macy's voice pulled me from my spiraling thoughts. "You look sad."

I forced a smile and moved closer to her bed. "I'm not sad, sweetheart. I'm just thinking."

"About what?"

How do you tell an eleven-year-old that you're thinking about how much you want to knock some sense into her mother? That you're thinking about the unfairness of life, about lost hopes and dreams?

"About how glad I am that you're safe," I said instead, which was also true.

Macy picked at her sandwich, taking small bites. The ginger ale seemed to be helping—there was more color in her cheeks now. "Felicity, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Do you think my mom loves me?"

The question hit me like a physical blow. Caden's head snapped up from his phone, and I saw the same pain reflected in his eyes that I felt in my chest.

"Oh, honey," I said, sitting on the other side of her bed. "Of course she loves you—so much. Even when people make bad choices, even when they're sick like your mom is, that doesn't mean they don't love you."

"Then why did she hurt me?"

The innocence in that question nearly undid me. How do you explain addiction to a child? How do you make sense of something that doesn't make sense?

"Sometimes when people are really sick," Caden said carefully, "they do things they would never normally do or that they don't even realize they're doing. It's like... imagine if you had a really high fever, and you said things you didn't mean, or do things that were scary. Your mom's sickness is like that, but in her brain."

"Will she get better?"

Caden and I exchanged another look. The truth was, we didn't know. It's clear Jessica had been struggling with prescription drug abuse for a while, this is not something that just happened yesterday. Who even knew what recovery would look like—or even what Macy will be exposed to given the legal ramifications of everything Jessica has done.

"We hope so," I said finally. "But that's going to take a long time, and I don't know that we have all the answers right now, but I think that's okay, right?"

"Yeah, I think you're right." Macy looked back and forth from me to Caden, "you promise I can stay with you guys, right—not just weekends like before?"

"Honey, of course you'll come home with us." Caden said. "We want you with us, Macy. We are your family and we love you."

Macy nodded, then settled back against her pillows. She was quiet for a moment, picking at the crust of her sandwich. "Will I have to see her? My mom, I mean."

The question hung in the air between us. Caden and I exchanged another look, this one full of uncertainty.

"I don't know, sweetheart," Caden said honestly. "That might depend on a lot of things—how she's doing, what the doctors say—I just don't know. Do you want to see her, Macy?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. Not right now. Is that okay?"

My heart broke a little more. An eleven-year-old shouldn't have to make decisions like this. She shouldn't have to be afraid of her own mother.

"Of course it's okay. But Macy, these aren't things you have to decide right now." I said firmly. "We'll figure it out."

Macy seemed to consider this, then nodded slowly. "Okay. I'm really tired now."

"Of course you are, honey," Caden said, adjusting her blanket. "You've been through so much today."

"Will you both stay here tonight?" she asked, her voice small and vulnerable.

"Absolutely," I said without hesitation. "Wild horses couldn't pull me away."

As if those were the words she'd been waiting to hear, Macy's eyes finally began to close. A minute or so later, I heard her say, "Hey Felicity?"

"Yes, Macy?"

Still sleepy with her eyes closed, she responded "Did you hear I got to turn on the sirens in the ambulance?"

"No way, that's awesome!" I whispered back.

"Yeah," Her breathing evened out, and within minutes, she was asleep.

Caden and I sat in the quiet room, listening to the soft beeping of monitors and the distant sounds of the hospital corridors. The adrenaline that had carried us through the night was finally wearing off, leaving behind bone-deep exhaustion and the crushing weight of everything that had happened.

"I can't believe we're here," Caden said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I know." I watched Macy's chest rise and fall steadily. "This morning feels like a lifetime ago."

"This morning, I was worried about finding a way to get you to forgive me and give us a second chance." He ran his hands through his hair. "How did I not see this coming?"

"Caden, stop. You can't blame yourself."

"Can't I? I'm her father. I should have protected her better."

I looked at him next to me in these uncomfortable hospital chairs. I could see the guilt written all over his face—filling every line. The way his shoulders curved in, like he was holding the burdens of everything across them.

"Jessica is an adult who made her own choices," I said quietly. "You trusted her. That's not a character flaw."

"I barely spoke to her, to be honest. I missed the signs because I didn't care to look."

"Signs of what? Addiction? Mental health struggles? You're not a mind reader—even if you were looking, who's to say you'd know what you were seeing? You're not a doctor. Even Brad didn't see what was happening. Caden, I don't know a lot, but I do know that addicts usually hide their addiction—at least, until they can't hide it anymore."

He was quiet for a long moment, staring down at his hands. "I don't know. But something. Anything."

I reached over and took his hand. "The only thing that matters right now is that she's safe. We found her, she's going to be okay, and she's coming home with us. That's what counts."

He squeezed my hand gratefully. "I keep thinking about what could have happened. If her fall had been worse when Jessica broke her arm, if the police didn't get there when they did, or if Jessica had..."

"Don't," I said firmly. "Don't go down that road. She's here. She's safe. That's reality."

A soft knock on the door interrupted us. Detective Morrison peered in, his expression apologetic.

"Sorry to bother you again. I just wanted to give you a quick update." He stepped into the room and lowered his voice. "Could we talk outside?"

We both looked at Macy. She was fast asleep, so we stepped outside but cracked the curtain to keep an ear and eye out for her.

In the hallway, Detective Morrison continued, "Mrs. Jensen is stable. She's been admitted for psychiatric evaluation and will likely be here for several days at minimum—at least seventy-two hours."

"What happens after that?" Caden asked.

"That depends on a lot of factors. The DA will decide on formal charges, but given the evidence we have..." He glanced meaningfully toward Macy, then back at us. "She'll be facing serious felony charges. Child endangerment, theft, drug possession. Even if she gets treatment, she's looking at significant jail time."

The reality of it hit me like a cold wave. Jessica wasn't just going to disappear into rehab for a few months and come back ready to resume her role as Macy's mother. This was bigger than that. This was life-changing—this was permanent.

We talked more about planning, the need to give statements, and the jurisdictional issues that Morrison would take care of in partnering with the local police department. After he left, Caden and I went back to sit with Macy while we sat in silence again, waiting for them to release us so we could take her home—a long night, even though it was almost morning at this point. The weight of everything we'd learned was settling over us like a heavy blanket.

"Are you okay with everything? I know this is a lot. I know we still have a lot to manage and deal with, and taking this on is huge. I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am for all of it, and now for all this too." Caden said eventually.

I looked at Macy, sleeping peacefully despite everything she'd been through. Her face was relaxed in sleep, making her look even younger than she was.

I turned back to look at Caden and said, "We aren't fixed, but we aren't completely broken. We have a lot to work on. I believe you when you say you want to work on it. I'm not going anywhere. Not right now. Not if we continue to work on us."

We were still gathering the fragments. But for the first time in a long time, I believed we might finally make something whole.