Dr. Adler followed me back in, his voice adopting a gentle, professional sorrow. “Because she is a minor, protocol requires us to involve medical social services immediately. She is going to need a tremendous amount of support, Mrs. Carter.”
I nodded mechanically, an automaton trapped in a nightmare.
A social worker named Lauren arrived less than twenty minutes later. She possessed a calm, disarming presence, her eyes crinkling with practiced empathy. She gently requested a private conversation with Hailey. I was exiled back to the fluorescent hallway. I paced until my soles burned, a chaotic storm of confusion and denial raging in my mind.
When Lauren finally emerged, she carefully closed the door and turned to face me. The professional neutrality was gone; her expression was tightly controlled, grave.
“Mrs. Carter. We need to sit down.”
My legs gave out. I collapsed into a plastic chair, my chest heaving. “Tell me. Just say it.”
Lauren knelt in front of me, ensuring our eyes met. “Hailey has disclosed that this pregnancy is not the result of a consensual teenage encounter,” she said softly, enunciating every word. “Someone has been hurting her. This was forced upon her.”
My vision tunneled. “Who?” I choked out, a wave of primal rage rising in my throat. “Who did this?”
