Ten Words on a Phone Screen Turned My Family’s Breakfast Upside Down

“You’re Emma’s mother,” Denise said.

“I’m her mother,” I said.

“My name is Rachel.”

Denise put her clipboard on the table and tapped her blue ballpoint pen against the metal clip.

“I’m a social worker for the pediatric wing,” she said.

“I go over the intake forms when a child comes in with an injury from home.”

I kept my hands pressed firmly against the rough denim of my jeans.

“She’s stable,” I said.