The social worker came to speak with me the following morning.
By then, I had spent so much time in the hospital that I had begun recognizing the sounds of the unit.
The quiet footsteps outside Paige's room.
The wheels of carts.
The soft voices of nurses checking on patients.
The occasional cry from a child somewhere down the hallway.
Every sound made me think about Paige.
I wondered whether the other children were frightened.
Whether their families knew what had happened to them.
Whether their parents had answers.
I knew how it felt not to have any.
The social worker introduced herself.
She asked whether I was Ally.
I nodded.
She explained that she wanted to discuss Paige's care and the concerns surrounding her injuries.
I looked toward the bed.
Paige was resting.
The nurse was nearby.
I asked whether we could remain close.
The social worker agreed to speak with me in a quiet area nearby.
I followed her.
She had a folder and a notebook.
I was beginning to associate notebooks with difficult conversations.
Every person who carried one seemed to ask questions I couldn't answer.
But I understood why.
Paige couldn't tell anyone what happened.
The adults had to provide the information.
The social worker asked how I was doing.
I almost laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because I had no idea how to answer.
"I'm worried about her."
She nodded.
"That's understandable."
I looked down at my hands.
I had been saying the same thing since Saturday.
I was worried.
Frightened.
Confused.
But those words didn't seem large enough anymore.
The social worker asked about my relationship with Kate and Ryan.
I explained that Kate was my older sister.
Ryan was her husband.
Paige was their six-month-old daughter.
I told her I'd watched Paige before.
That I loved my niece.
That I had agreed to babysit while her parents went shopping.
She asked whether I had any previous concerns about Paige's care.
I thought carefully.
"No specific concerns."
She waited.
I continued.
"I'd heard Kate talk about difficult nights. But I hadn't seen an injury before."
The social worker wrote that down.
She asked whether I'd ever witnessed either parent strike Paige.
"No."
"Handle her roughly?"
"Not that I remember."
"Leave her in an unsafe situation?"
"I haven't seen that."
I wanted to be precise.
I didn't want my fear to change the past.
Before Saturday, I hadn't been walking around suspicious of my sister.
I hadn't imagined Ryan might be involved in anything harmful.
They were Paige's parents.
I expected them to protect her.
That was why the hospital visit had shaken me so badly.
The social worker asked whether I believed Paige would be safe returning home.
I looked at her.
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
I wanted to say yes.
Of course I did.
I wanted my niece to go home.
I wanted her to sleep in her own crib.
I wanted Kate to hold her without being frightened.
I wanted Ryan to be the father everyone expected him to be.
But I couldn't answer yes with confidence.
Not while nobody had explained the injuries.
"I don't know," I said.
The words hurt.
The social worker nodded.
"Can you tell me why?"
I looked down.
"Because we don't know what happened."
I swallowed.
"Her leg is broken. The doctors found another injury. There was makeup over the bruise."
My voice began to shake.
"I don't know who did that."
The social worker listened.
I continued.
"I can't promise she'd be safe somewhere if I don't know how she got hurt there."
It was the hardest thing I'd said since bringing Paige to the hospital.
Because Kate was my sister.
Because Ryan was family.
Because saying I didn't know whether Paige was safe at home felt like betraying people I'd trusted for years.
But I couldn't lie.
Not about something that important.
The social worker asked whether I'd be willing to help with Paige's care if she needed a temporary arrangement outside her parents' home.
I looked up.
"Me?"
She nodded.
She explained that no decision had been made.
Any arrangement would depend on assessments and approval by the appropriate professionals.
She was asking whether I would consider helping.
I didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
Then I stopped.
I remembered the way Paige had screamed when I held her.
I remembered how frightened I'd been of touching her leg.
I knew caring for an injured baby would require guidance.
I didn't want to make a promise without understanding what was needed.
"I would want to learn everything about her care," I added.
The social worker nodded.
"Of course."
I continued.
"I'd follow the doctor's instructions. Whatever she needs."
My eyes filled.
"I just want her safe."
The social worker explained that safety planning could involve relatives, but that any placement or supervision arrangements would be decided through the proper process.
I listened carefully.
I didn't want to assume Paige would come home with me.
I didn't want to make plans that might never happen.
But for the first time, I allowed myself to imagine being able to help beyond sitting beside her hospital bed.
A safe place.
Her bottles.
Her blankets.
Her little clothes.
Someone watching carefully for signs of pain.
I thought about my living room.
The place where I'd walked in slow circles trying to settle her.
I had been frightened there.
But I had also recognized something was wrong.
I wondered whether that might matter now.
The social worker asked whether my home had room for Paige.
I answered honestly.
She asked about my schedule.
My availability.
Whether I would have support.
I told her what I could.
I didn't exaggerate.
I knew loving a child wasn't the same as being prepared to care for one full-time.
But I was willing to do the work.
The social worker explained that any temporary arrangement would require further discussion and assessment.
I nodded.
"I understand."
She asked whether I had spoken with Kate about the possibility.
"No."
"How do you think she would respond?"
I looked down.
"I don't know."
I thought about my sister's questions.
Why hadn't I called her before taking Paige to the hospital?
Why was everyone asking about Ryan?
Did I think she had hurt her daughter?
I knew Kate was frightened.
I knew she felt judged.
But I didn't know how she'd react if Paige couldn't return home immediately.
The social worker seemed to understand.
She didn't ask me to guess.
Instead, she returned to what I knew.
She asked about my relationship with Paige.
I told her about holding her as a newborn.
About being careful with her head.
About feeding her.
About watching her when Kate needed help.
My voice softened as I spoke.
Those memories felt different from the hospital conversations.
They reminded me that Paige was more than an injury.
More than a medical chart.
More than a child at the center of an investigation.
She was a baby who loved being held.
A baby who needed feeding and changing.
A little girl with dark hair and tiny fingers.
I wanted the people making decisions to remember that.
The social worker asked whether there was anything else she should know.
I thought about the diaper bag.
Kate saying she'd packed it.
Her remark that she sometimes carried personal items inside.
Her uncertainty about concealer.
I told the social worker about that conversation.
I explained that I hadn't seen anyone use cosmetics on Paige.
That I couldn't identify the substance.
That I hadn't searched the bag.
The social worker wrote it down.
I felt nervous.
I didn't want my words turned into an accusation.
So I added,
"I'm not saying Kate put makeup on Paige. I don't know who did."
The social worker nodded.
"I understand."
I felt relieved.
That distinction mattered to me.
A question wasn't proof.
A possibility wasn't a fact.
I wanted the investigation to remain careful.
The social worker finished the conversation.
She thanked me for speaking honestly.
Then she explained that the team would continue evaluating Paige's needs and available supports.
I returned to her room.
Kate was there.
Ryan wasn't.
My sister looked up when I entered.
"Where were you?"
"Talking to the social worker."
Her expression changed.
"About what?"
I sat down.
"Paige's care."
Kate stared at me.
"What did she ask?"
I hesitated.
I didn't want to hide the conversation.
But I also didn't want to frighten my sister unnecessarily.
"She asked whether I could help if Paige needed care."
Kate went still.
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know yet."
She looked toward the bed.
"Are they taking her away from us?"
Her voice broke.
I felt my chest tighten.
"I don't know what decisions they'll make."
Kate began crying.
I moved closer.
"Kate, they haven't told me anything definite."
She looked at me.
"Would you take her?"
I swallowed.
"If she needed a safe place, yes."
Kate stared.
For a moment, I thought she would become angry.
Instead, she looked down at Paige.
"I don't want to lose my baby."
I felt tears rising.
"I don't want you to either."
That was true.
I didn't want my sister to lose her daughter.
I wanted someone to explain what had happened.
I wanted the medical findings understood.
I wanted the right decisions made for Paige.
But I couldn't promise that everything would return to normal.
Kate wiped her eyes.
"Do you think I'm a bad mother?"
I looked at her.
The question hurt.
I remembered the tired woman who'd come to my house.
The mother who said her baby was teething.
The woman who now sat crying beside a hospital bed.
I didn't know what she had understood about Paige's pain.
I didn't know what she'd missed.
I didn't know whether she'd been told something untrue by someone else.
I couldn't decide all of that from her tears.
"I think Paige was hurt," I said quietly.
"And we need to know how."
Kate lowered her head.
She didn't answer.
I sat beside her for a while.
There was nothing useful to add.
I knew she wanted reassurance.
I wanted to give it.
But I couldn't offer something I didn't know was true.
A nurse came in to check Paige.
She explained that the doctors would continue monitoring her treatment and that the family would receive updates about the next steps.
Kate listened.
I listened too.
I watched the nurse support Paige's leg.
I watched the care she took.
I wanted that same attention to follow Paige wherever she went after the hospital.
Later, Ryan returned.
Kate told him she'd spoken with the social worker.
He looked toward me.
I could see the question forming before he asked it.
"What did you tell her?"
I kept my voice steady.
"The truth."
He stared at me.
I continued.
"That I love Paige. That I don't know how she was injured. And that I'd help care for her if she needed me."
Ryan looked away.
He didn't answer.
I felt tired.
I didn't want another confrontation.
I wanted Paige to rest.
The room became quiet again.
I sat beside her.
Her small hand moved against the blanket.
I touched one finger to her palm.
She held it.
I looked at Kate.
Then Ryan.
Then back at Paige.
There was a time when I thought being loyal to family meant protecting them from difficult things.
I didn't think that anymore.
Not when a baby was involved.
Loyalty couldn't mean pretending an unexplained fracture was ordinary.
It couldn't mean ignoring makeup over bruising.
It couldn't mean giving answers I didn't believe.
If Paige needed a safe place while the adults worked through what had happened, I wanted to help.
I didn't know whether I would be allowed.
I didn't know what the investigation would find.
I didn't know how my relationship with Kate would change.
But I knew I couldn't promise safety where I had no understanding of the danger.
That was the truth I had given the social worker.
And it was the truth I would keep giving, even when it hurt.
Click here to continue reading: PART 16: The Investigator Told Us What Still Had to Be Verified, and I Realized Paige’s Safety Couldn’t Depend on Anyone’s Promises
My Sister Left Her Six-Month-Old Daughter With Me That Saturday, and One Strange Thing She Said Kept Coming Back to Me
Part 15 of 20
