“Doctor, please don’t tell my dad’s fiancée that I’ve been pouring her vitamins into the flowerpot, because whenever I skip them, my stomach doesn’t hurt anymore.”
Dr. Rosalyn Mercer stopped her pen directly above the discharge form.
Standing before her was Chloe, a seven-year-old girl with two untidy braids and a missing front tooth, holding tightly to the edge of her white lab coat.
“What vitamins do you mean, sweetheart?” Rosalyn asked gently.
“The drops Brenda gives me every day,” Chloe whispered, glancing around anxiously. “She says they’re supposed to help make me strong again, but they taste really awful. Whenever she watches me, I have to swallow them, but when she looks away…” Chloe quietly pointed toward the window, “…I pour them straight into the soil.”
Rosalyn placed her pen carefully on the desk. Chloe skipped back toward her hospital bed while clutching a stuffed giraffe with a torn left ear.
