Chapter 13: The Ordinary Seasons
The seasons turned without the old interruptions.
My son’s residual check-ups remained routine. The antibiotic course that had finally reached him did its work; the fever that had climbed to 104 never returned in that form again. I measured every dose myself, recorded it, and kept the pediatrician’s number in the place where my mother-in-law’s opinions had once lived. My daughter moved through school and ordinary childhood with the same clear-eyed steadiness she had shown in the exam room. She did not speak often of the teddy bear or the trash can or the three nights. When she did, it was factual, not dramatic—simply the memory of a time when the adults had required proof before they would listen.
Supervised visits with their father continued on the schedule set by the review. He arrived on time, stayed within the boundaries, and left without attempting to renegotiate the terms. My mother-in-law remained outside those terms entirely. The protective order held. I did not reopen the door she had used to enter the house with a purple bottle and a decision that the real medicine was optional.
