Page 42 of After Everything
"These help," I said. "But pictures alone aren't enough. We need a medical professional to examine you, document the injuries, write a report for the court. Someone who can testify if needed."
"How much does that cost?" Her voice was barely a whisper.
I knew what her answer would be before I asked. "Do you have health insurance?"
She shook her head. "I have nothing, Mr. Harrison. He controlled all the money. I take the kids, I leave with nothing. I stay with my sister now. She helps, but..." She looked down at her hands. "I have no money for doctors."
"Okay." I pulled up my computer. "Let me make some calls. There are clinics that work with domestic violence survivors. Someone will help you."
She nodded, wiping her eyes. "Thank you. Thank you so much."
After she left, I spent two hours on the phone.
The first clinic had a three-month wait list. The second didn't do legal documentation. The third would see her but wanted $400 up front, even for a pro bono legal case. The fourth said they'd need two weeks to process the request, which put us past the court date.
I was running out of options.
I pulled up a list of women's health clinics in the area and started going through them one by one. Most didn't even answer. The ones that did gave me the same responses: booked out, no availability, can't do legal documentation, too expensive.
I was about to give up when I found it.
Riverview Women's Health. Comprehensive care, sliding scale fees, specialized program for domestic violence survivors.
I clicked through to the providers page.
And there she was.
Emma Peterson, NP-C. Women's Health Nurse Practitioner. Specialties: Reproductive health, trauma-informed care, domestic violence advocacy.
I stared at her photo on the website. Professional headshot, her hair pulled back, that calm, competent expression I remembered from when she'd handled crises in the ICU. She looked exactly like her strong and capable self. The kind of person you'd trust with your life.
The kind of person Maria needed.
I sat back in my chair and ran my hands through my hair.
Of all the clinics in the city, of course it was hers. Of course Emma was the person who could help. Because the universe had a sense of humor, and that humor was apparently punishing me for eternity.
I could call somewhere else, of course. Keep looking. There had to be another option.
Except there wasn't. I'd called everyone. And Maria's court date was in two weeks.Her safety—and her kids' safety—depended on getting this documentation.
I couldn't let my discomfort get in the way of that.
I picked up my phone and dialed before I could talk myself out of it.
The receptionist answered on the third ring. "Riverview Women's Health, this is Jessica, how can I help you?"
"Hi, I—" My voice came out rough. I cleared my throat. "I need to speak with Emma Peterson, please. It's regarding a legal case."
"Can I ask what this is in reference to?"
"I'm an attorney. I have a client who's a domestic violence survivor and needs medical documentation for a restraining order hearing. It's urgent."
"One moment, please."
Hold music. I stared at my desk, my heart pounding harder than it should have been. This was professional. Just a professional call. Emma was an NP, I was a lawyer, we were both trying to help someone. That was all this was.
The hold music cut off.
