Chapter 2 - ELEVEN CANCELED ALERTS
Todd recovered quickly.
People like him usually did.
“I don’t know anything about the monitor.”
The paramedic tapped the tablet.
“Someone does.”
Evan was lifted onto the stretcher.
His breathing had improved slightly after the inhaler, but his oxygen level remained low enough that they wanted him in the emergency room.
I climbed toward the ambulance.
Todd grabbed my arm.
“You’re staying.”
The officer removed his hand.
“She’s going with her brother.”
“I’m her stepfather.”
“She is seventeen.”
“I’m responsible for her.”
The officer looked at the red mark around my wrist.
“Not while I’m sorting out what happened here.”
Todd’s jaw tightened.
Then Mom’s car turned into the driveway.
Sarah Collins Mercer.
Our mother.
She jumped out still wearing her pharmacy uniform.
“Todd?”
Then she saw Evan.
Her face collapsed.
“What happened?”
Todd reached her first.
“Mia lost control.”
I stared.
“What?”
“He was having one of his episodes. I tried calming him down. Mia started screaming and throwing things.”
Mom looked at the overturned trash.
The inhaler.
My wrist.
Evan’s cheek.
Then at Todd.
“Did you hit him?”
“He was panicking.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Todd’s voice sharpened.
“You know how Evan gets.”
Mom went pale.
The police officer stepped forward.
“Ma’am, your son is being transported. We need you to follow us. We will take statements separately.”
Todd tried to follow.
The officer blocked him.
“Not yet.”
Mom stared at her husband.
Then got into the ambulance with us.
For the first five minutes, nobody spoke.
Evan held my fingers.
The paramedic monitored his breathing.
Then he whispered:
“Mia.”
“I’m here.”
“Don’t let him come.”
Mom closed her eyes.
The paramedic looked at her.
“Has Evan ever said that before?”
Mom answered too slowly.
“No.”
I did.
“Yes.”
Her eyes opened.
“When?”
“A lot.”
“Mia.”
“He hates when Todd controls his inhaler.”
Mom looked confused.
“Controls?”
I almost shouted.
“You didn’t know?”
“Know what?”
Todd had started keeping Evan’s inhalers in a kitchen cabinet three months earlier.
He said Evan lost them.
The school nurse complained once that his rescue inhaler was missing from his backpack.
Todd said he had forgotten to replace it.
Two weeks later, Evan had an attack after soccer.
Todd accused him of wasting medication.
Mom had been at work.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Mom stared.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I did.”
“When?”
“January. February. Last week.”
“You said Todd was being strict.”
“I said he took Evan’s inhaler.”
Mom covered her mouth.
There was no time to continue.
We reached the hospital.
Evan was taken into treatment.
Mom and I waited outside.
Twenty minutes later, a pediatric emergency physician came out.
“His breathing is stabilizing.”
My knees nearly gave out.
Then she said:
“I need to ask about his home medication.”
Mom answered.
“He takes a daily controller inhaler morning and night. Rescue inhaler as needed.”
“Who administers the controller?”
“Todd usually handles mornings because I leave early.”
The doctor looked at her notes.
“Our records show Evan’s asthma has become significantly less controlled over approximately five months.”
Mom nodded.
“We thought his condition was worsening.”
“Maybe.”
The doctor hesitated.
“But the clinic’s connected monitor shows something else.”
I leaned forward.
“What?”
“Many of his severe episodes happen during periods where medication administration was electronically marked complete.”
Mom looked confused.
“What does that mean?”
The monitor system connected to a home care app.
Every morning and night, an adult caregiver could mark the controller dose administered.
Todd had been doing it.
The records showed nearly perfect compliance.
Yet Evan told the doctor he sometimes went days without the brown controller inhaler.
Mom stared through the glass toward his room.
“He said that?”
“Yes.”
Then:
“There is another concern.”
The automatic respiratory monitor had generated eleven high severity alerts.
Six had reached the clinic.
Five had been canceled within ninety seconds using the caregiver app.
Authorized caregiver:
Todd Mercer.
May you like
Mom stopped breathing.
Continue to the next part: Hospital records show Todd repeatedly used his caregiver account to cancel severe respiratory alerts before anyone outside the house could respond.
