My parents and brother refused to take my 12-year-old daughter to the emergency room after she broke her leg…

But Grace adored him. Drive safe, Steph, was all he said to me as I hugged Grace goodbye. Be good, sweetie.

Call me tonight before bed, okay? I whispered to Grace. I love you more than anything. Love you too, Mom.

Don’t worry so much. Your conference is going to be amazing. As I drove away, I watched Grace in my rearview mirror, waving enthusiastically from between my stern-faced parents and my smirking brother.

That image would haunt me later, my bright, trusting daughter surrounded by the three people who would betray her so profoundly. The Chicago conference started well. My presentation on innovative literacy techniques for diverse learners was scheduled for Saturday afternoon, and Friday’s keynote speeches provided valuable networking opportunities.

Still, I found myself checking my phone frequently, smiling at Grace’s occasional texts about the banana pancakes Grandma made or the woodpecker she spotted near the dock. Friday evening, I called as promised, but no one answered. I tried three times over two hours, growing increasingly concerned.

Finally, around 9.30 p.m., my father called back. Grace is already asleep, he said curtly. We had a busy day getting the boat ready for summer, and she was exhausted.

Could you wake her? I promised I’d say goodnight. Stephanie, don’t be ridiculous. The child needs rest, not to be disturbed because you’re feeling insecure about being away.

I swallowed my frustration. Can you just have her call me first thing tomorrow? We’re hiking early. She’ll call you when we get back.

Before I could protest, he hung up. Typical Harold behavior, deciding what was best for everyone without consultation. I tried texting Grace directly, but the message remained undelivered.

I reasoned that the lake house’s spotty cell service was to blame and tried to focus on reviewing my presentation notes. What I didn’t know then, what Grace would later recount to me through tears in a hospital bed, was what Saturday would bring. According to Grace, the morning began pleasantly enough.

Jason arrived before breakfast, bringing donuts and an excessive enthusiasm for the day’s hike. My father had mapped an ambitious trail that looped from the property to the waterfall and back, about seven miles total. Grace was excited but nervous about the distance.

Maybe we should do the shorter trail she’d suggested timidly over breakfast. Mom, and I usually do the three mile one. Your mother coddles you, my father had responded.

You’re old enough for a real hike. Besides, Jason wants to see the upper falls. And so it was decided.

What Grace wanted or felt comfortable with was irrelevant. What Jason wanted was the priority, a family dynamic I knew all too well. They set out around 9am.

Grace wore the proper hiking boots I’d packed, along with jeans and layers as the spring day promised to warm up. Her backpack contained water, trail mix, and her phone, which my mother promptly confiscated. No electronics in nature, Martha declared.

This is family time. The first half of the hike went smoothly. They reached the waterfall by noon, where they ate the sandwiches Martha had packed.

Grace described how beautiful the falls were, swollen with spring runoff, cascading dramatically over moss-covered rocks. It was on their return journey, about a mile from the waterfall, that everything went wrong. The path narrowed as it followed a stream, becoming rocky and slick with spray from the rushing water.

Grace was careful, but my father and Jason set a brisk pace ahead, with Martha following close behind them. No one was watching when Grace’s foot slipped on a moss-covered rock. Her leg twisted awkwardly as she fell, and she heard a sickening crack.

The pain was immediate and overwhelming. Grace screamed, a sound that echoed through the forest. My family rushed back to find her crumpled on the trail, clutching her right leg, tears streaming down her face.

It’s broken, she gasped. Something snapped. I heard it.

Jason knelt beside her, his medical training finally useful. He examined her leg, which was already beginning to swell. Looks like a tibia fracture, he concluded.

We need to get her to an ER. Grace felt a momentary relief. Uncle Jason was a doctor.

He would help her. They would call her mom me, and everything would be okay. But then my father checked his watch.

We have dinner with the Hendersons at seven, he reminded Martha. We’d never make it to the hospital and back in time. Can’t we cancel? Grace asked through her tears.

It really hurts. Martha’s lips thinned. The Hendersons are your grandfather’s oldest friends…