Chapter 7 - Nora Had Hidden A Backup Mask In Her Dollhouse
Three days later, while helping Nora pack to stay temporarily with my sister, she opened the bottom drawer of her dollhouse.
Inside was another breathing mask.
An older one.
I stared at it.
“Why is that here?”
She froze.
Then whispered:
“For emergencies.”
“You already have the blue one.”
“If Serena takes it.”
I had to sit down.
My daughter had created a contingency plan inside a toy.
At eight.
She had hidden old medicine because she no longer trusted the adults responsible for access.
“How long has this been here?”
“Since Christmas.”
Four months.
I asked:
“Did you ever use it without telling us?”
“Yes.”
“Was it expired?”
She nodded uncertainly.
That frightened me for a completely different reason.
Serena’s behavior had not only restricted appropriate medication.
It had driven Nora toward unsafe self-management.
I immediately took the old device and contacted her doctor to make sure everything in the home was current, labeled, and accessible.
Then I made a rule:
Nora would have appropriate medication with her according to her medical plan.
One at school.
One at home.
One travel backup.
Adults would not use access as discipline.
Ever.
She listened carefully.
Then asked:
“Can Serena still take it?”
“No.”
“Even if she says I’m being dramatic?”
“No.”
“What if you’re not there?”
I swallowed.
“She still can’t.”
Nora stared at me for several seconds.
Then nodded.
That nod felt like a contract.
May you like
One I should have made long ago.
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