Chapter 2
At Raleigh Regional, Frank told the receptionist exactly what happened.
“My daughter’s grandfather grabbed her wrist during dinner. We heard a pop. Her arm is swelling.”
The receptionist’s face changed.
They were taken back within minutes.
Dr. Reeves examined Nancy gently, ordered X-rays, and confirmed what Frank already feared.
A spiral fracture in the forearm.
Consistent with a twisting injury.
Nancy chose a yellow cast because it looked like sunflowers.
Frank almost broke when she smiled at it.
Then Dr. Reeves looked at him and Talia with calm seriousness.
“I’m required to report suspected child abuse,” she said. “Child Protective Services will be contacted.”
Frank nodded.
“I’ll be filing a police report too.”
In the hospital parking lot, Nadia was waiting beside their car.
She had called a friend for a ride because she needed to know if Nancy was okay.
When Frank told her it was broken, her face went still.
Then she said what no one in that dining room had wanted to hear.
Royce had grabbed her before too.
Not always. Not every day. Just “when he was making a point.”
That phrase made Frank’s blood go cold.
The next morning, Monica called and asked them not to “make this into a big thing.”
Talia finally answered for herself.
“Dad broke my daughter’s arm,” she said. “We’re filing the police report.”
At the station, Detective Grant took the hospital records, the photos, and Frank’s statement. Then she asked if Nadia would speak.
Frank called her gently.
No pressure.
No demand.
Nadia’s answer came through steady.
“I’m tired of being quiet.”
Frank did not sleep much after Thanksgiving.
Every time he closed his eyes, he heard Nancy’s cry.
Not the loud part.
The quiet part after.
The small, broken sobs against his shoulder while she tried to understand why an adult had hurt her over spilled cranberry sauce.
The next morning, Nancy sat on her bedroom floor trying to pull on socks with one hand.
“I can’t do it,” she said.
Frank sat beside her.
“That’s okay. Some things are two-hand jobs for a while.”
He helped her slowly, carefully.
Nancy watched him with serious eyes.
“Is Grandpa Royce mad at me?”
“No,” Frank said. “And even if he is, that is not your job to fix.”
“But I spilled.”
“You had an accident. Accidents happen. What happened to your arm was not an accident. And it was not your fault.”
Nancy leaned against his shoulder.
“Are we going to see him again?”
May you like
“No.”
The answer came without hesitation.
