My Harvard-Law Mom Slapped Me Over 3×4—So I Stripped Away Her Elite Title Overnight Chapter 04

My Harvard-Law Mom Slapped Me Over 3×4—So I Stripped Away Her Elite Title Overnight Chapter 04

The room went dead silent.

Grandpa got up from the table, walked to the door, and saw the photo.

His body swayed.

Grandma came up behind him. One look, and she collapsed.

“Nora. That’s Nora.”

Mom stepped back. Her face went from shock to panic.

“That can’t be. The tracker is still moving—”

“Ms. Miller,” the older officer said, looking at her. “The child was hit by a truck forty minutes ago. The driver called 911.”

“She’s at the county hospital.”

“Alive?” Dad shot up from his chair. “She’s still alive?”

“She had a pulse when they brought her in. But she’s in bad shape. Skull fracture. Brain bleed. Multiple broken bones. They’re doing everything they can.”

The officer paused. His eyes landed on Mom.

“We need to understand how a sixyearold ended up on the emergency lane of a highway in the middle of the night.”

Mom’s lips trembled.

I floated above the doorframe and stared at her. I wanted to hear what she’d say this time.

“She… she got into someone’s car,” Mom said, her voice shaking.

“Whose car? License plate? Phone number?”

Mom couldn’t answer.

Grandpa spun around. His eyes locked onto Dad.

“Ryan. Tell me the truth. How did Nora get on that highway?”

Dad opened his mouth and pushed up his glasses.

I knew that gesture. Every time he didn’t want to tell the truth, he pushed up his glasses.

“We… we were driving. Nora was misbehaving. Susan told her to get out and walk for a bit.”

“Walk for a bit?” Grandpa’s voice was low, like a boiler about to blow.

“It was only a mile.” Mom straightened her back. “From the drop point to the rest stop. I told her to stay in the emergency lane. I gave her the camera. I could see her location the whole time.”

“Ten degrees below zero,” Grandpa said.

“A mile,” Mom repeated.

“Ten degrees below zero!” Grandpa’s voice exploded. “No coat. A sixyearold. You made her walk a mile on a highway in the middle of the night. Susan, are you out of your mind?”

Grandma lay on the floor, sobbing, her whole body shaking.

“My baby. My baby.”

Connor had gotten up from the couch. A piece of orange fell from his mouth onto the carpet.

He looked at Mom. Then at the photo in the officer’s hand.

His face was complicated.

I floated over to him, crouched down, and looked into his eyes.

“Connor. You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

He couldn’t hear. He turned and sat back down.

The officers took notes and told everyone to go to the hospital.

Dad drove. His hands never stopped shaking.

Mom sat in the passenger seat, her face gray, silent.

Grandma and Grandpa sat in back. Grandma cried the whole way. Grandpa held her. His hand trembled.

I sat between them.

“Grandma, don’t cry. Nora’s okay.”

She couldn’t hear.

When the car got to the county hospital, the emergency room lights were still on.

A doctor in a white coat pushed through the doors and took off his mask.

“Family of Nora Miller?”

“That’s us.” Dad rushed forward.

“She’s not stable yet. Skull fracture. Brain bleed. Right leg shattered. Multiple contusions.”

The doctor paused. His expression changed.

“We also found old injuries on her body. Bruises on her palms, like from repeated blows. Lines on her thighs. And an old hairline fracture on her left forearm.”

“Those didn’t happen today.”

In the hallway, everyone turned to look at Mom.