Evie cries in short bursts, holding her wrist to her chest like it might fall apart if she loosens her grip. I keep one arm around her and rub small circles on her back with my other hand.
“You’re doing great,” I tell her softly. “We’ll get ice on it soon.”
Kate’s voice wavers when she finally speaks. “Baby, I’m right here.”
Evie sniffles. “It hurts, Mommy.”
Kate swallows. “I know. We’re almost there.”
“You’ll be okay,” I add quietly, hoping Kate hears me too.
Cedar Falls Hospital is small, but the ER moves fast for kids. The second we walk in, the triage nurse takes one look at Evie’s tear-stained face and swollen wrist and waves us forward.
“We’ll get her checked quickly. Hi, sweet girl,” she says, crouching to Evie’s level. “Do you want a popsicle while we get started?”
Evie hiccups. “Do you have purple ones?”
“We sure do.” The nurse smiles and hands her a grape one from a small freezer behind the desk. “Can I see your arm, sweetheart?”
Evie nods, pressing closer to me as the nurse gently examines her wrist.
Kate stands beside us, hovering, hands trembling just slightly. “It’s really broken, isn’t it?”
“We’ll get X-rays to be sure,” the nurse says kindly. “But she’s doing great.”
They take us to a pediatric room to wait—one stocked with cartoon posters and a movie playing on a TV hung in the corner. Kate sits on the edge of the chair, twisting her fingers together, every inch of her tight with worry.
“She’s gonna be okay,” I say, keeping my voice low just for her. “Kids bounce back fast.”
Her laugh comes out brittle. “That’s not saying much. I’m already falling apart.”
I touch her shoulder. Just lightly. “Accidents happen, Kate.”
She looks up at me, eyes glassy. “I hate this. I hate that I couldn’t stop it.”
“You can’t stop everything,” I say gently.
For a moment, she just stares at me. Then she looks away, swallowing hard.
The X-ray tech calls us back, and they wheel Evie inside while we stand behind the glass. Kate presses her hands to her face. “I can’t believe this happened.”
“She’s going to be fine,” I say. “She’s tougher than both of us combined.”
That earns a tiny, watery smile.
The doctor confirms it’s a small, clean buckle fracture—painful, but easy to treat. No surgery. No complications.
Relief hits Kate so fast she sways.
They let Evie choose the cast color, and she doesn’t hesitate. “Purple!”
The cast tech laughs. “Excellent choice.”
As soon as the cast is secure, a pediatric nurse comes in with a tiny medicine cup and a bottle decorated with cartoon frogs.
“Hey, superstar,” she says, crouching beside Evie. “Your arm’s probably still throbbing a little. Can I give you something to help it feel better?”
Evie nods, sniffling. “Will it taste yucky?”
