When the doctor asked about the bruises on my body, my daughter quickly replied, “She’s clumsy… she falls all the time.” I said nothing… but when the nurse returned alone, I slipped her a small, folded note.
My name is Margaret Hayes, and by the time my daughter Claire pushed my wheelchair into the urgent care clinic, the bruise around my eye had darkened into a deep, unpleasant purple. Another throbbed beneath my ribs, hidden under my blouse. Around my wrist, faint, yellowish, finger-like marks from two nights before still remained. Claire…
