Chapter 5: The Dentist's Office and What We Learned There
The pediatric dentist's name was Dr.
Okafor.
She had a calm, unhurried manner and a wall covered in children's drawings, and she did not react visibly when I explained why we were there.
I appreciated that.
I was holding myself together by a very thin thread and I did not need anyone's shock on top of my own.
Emma sat in the chair with her hands folded in her lap, cooperative and quiet in the way children are when they sense that the adults around them are fragile.
Dr.
Okafor examined her gently, asking Emma easy questions about her favorite color and her teacher's name while she worked.
"Does this hurt?"
"No," Emma said.
"And this?"
"A little."
Dr.
Okafor made a note.
She took two X-rays.
Then she turned to us.
"Four teeth were removed," she said.
"Two of those were genuinely close to falling on their own — another few weeks and they likely would have.
The other two were not ready."
I heard Daniel draw a breath beside me.
"What does that mean for the permanent teeth?" I asked.
"In most cases, early loss of baby teeth doesn't cause lasting damage if the permanent tooth is already developing normally.
But it can affect spacing." She paused.
"The two that weren't ready — I want to monitor those positions over the next few months.
There's a possibility Emma may need a spacer to hold the gap open so the adult tooth comes in correctly."
"A spacer," Daniel said.
"It's a small device.
Common.
Not painful.
But yes, it would have been avoidable if the teeth had been left to fall naturally."
Emma was looking between us.
"Is something wrong with my mouth?"
Dr.
Okafor turned to her immediately.
"Your mouth is perfectly healthy.
We're just going to keep an eye on it to make sure your grown-up teeth have plenty of room.
Okay?"
"Okay," Emma said, in a voice that was trying to sound unbothered.
In the car afterward, Emma fell asleep within ten minutes, her head tipped against the window.
Daniel drove.
I watched the road.
"A spacer," he said quietly.
"Yes."
"My mother caused that."
"Potentially.
Yes."
He was quiet for a long stretch.
Then: "I called her last night.
After you went to bed."
I turned to look at him.
"I know.
I should have told you." He kept his eyes on the road.
"I needed to hear what she'd say.
I asked her directly — did you know the teeth weren't ready?
Did anyone check?"
"What did she say?"
"She said the woman at the pharmacy told her it was fine.
That baby teeth are just baby teeth."
"She asked a pharmacist."
"Apparently."
I turned back to the window.
"She also said," Daniel continued, and his voice had changed slightly, "that she did it because she was trying to help Emma before the school photos next month.
She didn't want Emma to look — her word was 'unfortunate' — in the class picture."
"Unfortunate."
"Yes."
"She pulled our daughter's teeth so she wouldn't look unfortunate in a school photo."
Daniel said nothing.
"And the list?" I said.
"Did you ask her about the list?"
A pause.
"She said it wasn't meant to be hurtful.
She said she's been keeping notes because she was planning to bring them up with us at the right time.
She said she was going to suggest we consider a parenting class."
The silence in the car after that was the loudest thing I had heard in days.
Emma made a small sound in her sleep.
Just a murmur.
Nothing.
"Daniel," I said.
"Your mother has been keeping a written record of my parenting failures.
She used our daughter as a courier.
She performed a dental procedure on a child based on advice from a pharmacy counter.
And she did all of this while telling your daughter that her face was a problem to be solved."
He didn't answer.
"I need to know," I said, "whether you think any part of that is acceptable."
"No," he said.
"None of it."
"Then I need you to say that to her.
Not to me.
To her."
He nodded.
One slow nod.
"There's something else," he said.
"She called again this morning while you were getting Emma ready.
She wants to come over tonight.
She says she wants to apologize."
I looked at him.
"She wants to come here."
"That's what she said."
I thought about Emma asking me if she was pretty.
I thought about the list.
I thought about the word *unfortunate.*
"She can come," I said.
"But I'll be the one doing the talking."
May you like
Daniel glanced at me quickly, then back at the road.
He didn't argue.
