Until Someone Called Me Mom

"It was a long, hard, tough day. We managed to just sneak through, it was an unbelievable test match." –Ricky Ponting

Summary: She had never had trouble figuring out what was wrong with her patients. Esme was the best pediatric psychiatrist in the state, possibly the country, but one little girl, one adorable blonde haired little girl, had her completely stumped. What will happen when she discovers the child's secrets? Triggers: Child Abuse

Opening AN: Well, after writing, and deleting, and starting new stories, and deleting new stories, I finally found one I couldn't stop writing. I don't really know what made me decide to write this, but once I started, I couldn't stop. Full disclaimer, the first four chapters are a bit…boring…but necessary. Once chapter five come into play, they pick up, and get much more interesting. Anyway, without further ado, here's my story.

P.S.: I love reviews. Like I love follows and stuff too but reviews motivate me. Just saying.

Chapter 1: Uncertainty

I took a deep breath, organized my desk a little, and called the secretary to bring my last patient of the day in. It had been such a long day, filled with teary eyed children, furious children, and everything in between. I was just ready to go home, but now I had my newest patient, Rosalie Hale, referred to me by her private school. From the phone call I had with their school psychologist, the Hale family was not really excited about this predicament, but that they mandated it, saying they would not allow Rosalie to attend school if her parents didn't bring her to see me once a week.

All I had been told about my new, five-year-old patient, was that she was difficult. She would never tell anyone how she felt, or really show emotions at all. They said they were concerned, about some of her behaviors, and that she had gone from a happy, bubbly, energetic child to an apathetic, exhausted little girl. They didn't know what to make of anything or how to help her, they just knew something wasn't right. It would be my job to figure out what that something was and how to help her.

My secretary walked in, holding the hand of a tiny, beautiful, little girl with blonde waves cascading down her back. She was so small, even for her age but she looked exhausted, like she hadn't had a good night of sleep in days. She was still in her private school uniform, a green and yellow plaid jumper, a yellow button down shirt, green knee socks, and penny loafers.

"Hi Rosalie, I'm Esme." I greeted the young girl, quickly getting up from my desk and moving to crouch in front of her. "Where's your Mommy or Daddy?" I asked, I always had the parents stay for the first part of the first session.

"Father is at work, Mother dropped me off." She told me with a tone of maturity.

"Her mother said she'll be back in an hour." My secretary told me.

I nodded, reaching my hand for the little girl who dropped my secretary's and took mine. "Alright Sweetheart, let's sit down." I told her as the secretary left and I sat on the loveseat, patting the spot beside me.

Rosalie joined me but instead of sitting like a child, comfortably, she said with perfect posture, legs crossed, hands folded together in her lap. Her posture, her formal names for her parents, it was all strange to me especially for such a young child.

"Rosalie, do you know why you're here?" I asked her.

"Mother and Father said I have to or the school will not let me go back." She answered me almost robotically.

"Do you like school?" I asked her.

"Yes." She agreed.

"Well Rosalie, while we are here, we're just going to talk about things, whatever you want really. We can talk about school and about your family. We can play games or draw pictures. We can do whatever you want. It's supposed to be fun for you." I explained.

"Okay." Rosalie agreed.

"So what do you like about school?" I started easy, trying to get her to answer with something more than a 'yes', 'no', or 'okay'.

She shrugged and looked to her shoes.

"Do you like your teacher?" I asked her with a smile as I pulled the coffee table up closer to us and put two sheets of paper and some crayons in our reach.

"She's nice." Rosalie told me.

"What about coloring? Do you like coloring?" I asked her.

"It's fun." She agreed.

"How about we color while we talk? We can draw pictures of ourselves." I told her.

"Okay." She nodded as she scooted a little closer to the edge of the sofa and picked up a crayon, instantly beginning to draw.

"Do you feel safe when you're at school?" I asked Rosalie as I began drawing as well.

"Yes." She agreed.

"How about when you're at home?" I asked her.

Silence greeted me but I got a nod. It was a little suspicious but she did give me a nod and she wasn't the most communicative child. I would make a note of it in her file though.

"What's your most favorite thing to do?" I asked the little one.

She shrugged her shoulders as she continued drawing.

"Do you like playing outside?" I offered.

"Mother says playing outdoors is not meant for ladies." The child answered in a monotone voice, her focus never leaving her picture.

"Well, what do you like doing inside? I really like to read; do you know how to read yet?" I asked her softly.

"I'm learning." She told me.

The rest of the appointment went much like the beginning, me not getting much information from the little girl, and her shutting down anytime I got too personal. Her mother showed up to pick her up, barely gave me the time of day, and then left with Rosalie.

Her picture was a bit concerning. There were lots of dark colors, not many happy ones, and the girl in the picture didn't wear a smile. It wasn't a frown, just a straight face. No emotions on her picture, none at all.

Something wasn't right. I needed to figure out what was wrong with this little girl. The question now was, how. How did I figure out what was wrong?

I made my way to my brother's office. I needed to bounce some ideas off of him. He always helped me straighten out my thoughts. I knocked quickly and heard him call for me to come in, so I quickly opened the door.

"Hey, I need your brain." I told him.

He chuckled. "You've always been jealous of my brain."

"El…this is serious." I sighed.

"Uh oh, okay, sit down and tell me what's wrong." He gestured towards a chair across from him. I quickly took a seat, crossed my legs, and buried my head in my hands. "Long day?" He asked.

"Unbelievably long day." I agreed. "My last patient…was a lot more challenging than I would have expected."

"What do you mean?" He asked as he popped a chocolate in his mouth, offering me one which I shook my head to. Not even chocolate would make this day better.

"Five-year-old female, though she's very small for her age. She was referred to me by her school. They were worried about her and no one there could pinpoint what was going on." I told him as I shook my head. "I don't blame them honestly."

"Difficult patient?" He offered.

"Trying to get information from her is like pulling teeth. She won't say much. She's very formal, very distant. She uses terms like "mother" and "father" and practically shuts down with any question I ask her. She wouldn't even answer the icebreaker questions. She wouldn't even tell me what she likes to do." I sighed.

"What are you thinking?" My brother asked me.

I sighed. "I have no idea. It was like I sat and stared at her the whole time. I need her to be more open with me if I want to have any hope of figuring out what's off about her."

"You're worried." He pointed out.

"Very." I agreed.

"Well, think on it some, but not too much. Not to the point where it overcomes you. I'm sure you'll figure it out. The formal words, that is strange for a child that age." He told me. "So is the distance. Someone has trained her well."

"Trained?" I offered, scrunching up my eyebrows.

"You've seen it before; the distance children have from their parents due to certain things." He shrugged.

"You're thinking abuse?" I asked him.

"It's got to be in the back of your mind." He simply nodded.

"Well, it is in the back of my mind, but I need to figure out how to break that training if I want her to admit to being abused. If it's physical, the cover it very well. Not a mark on her visible skin." I frowned, thinking back to the little girl.

"You're one of the best. I'm sure you'll get to the bottom of this." He offered a supportive smile. "Go home to Carlisle, do something fun so you can stop thinking about this, and don't worry about it until tomorrow."

I smiled at my bossy brother, always telling me what to do. "I'll do my best."

I took Eleazar's advice, and I made my way back to my office, packed up my things, and finally headed home. I frowned when I got there and Carlisle's car wasn't in the garage yet. He was supposed to get off early today. Him not being here meant that something had come up, a big trauma or something, and there was no telling when he would actually be home.

So I made my way to our room, and to my walk-in-closet. I changed out of my work clothes and into something much more comfortable, a pair of jeans and a lightweight sweater, and headed to the kitchen to get a head start on dinner.

I decided to fix him some British comfort food. My husband would never get over his obsession with the food he grew up on, and after all these years, I had finally learned how to perfect some of his favorite dishes. Tonight I decided on bangers and mash with some snap peas, cauliflower cheese, and bread and butter pudding for desert.

As I cooked, I couldn't help but think about poor Rosalie, trying to piece symptoms together, figure out what was left unspoken, but I became frustrated as I came to the same conclusion I had earlier; I had no idea.

Right as I was pulling the food out of the oven, the garage door open, and I couldn't help the smile that crossed my face. Carlisle was home.

"Honey, I'm home!" Carlisle called making me snort a laugh.

He did this everyday he got home after me, and it never failed to make me smile. "In the kitchen!" I called as I put the dishes on the island.

"It smells wonderful My Love." He told me as he pecked my cheek. "Bangers and mash?"

I smiled as he pulled out his seldom used British accent. "How was your day?" I asked.

"Fairly slow until the end of the day. We had a much too small eleven-year-old to be riding in the front seat involved in a car crash. The airbag deployed and caused a fracture of his C3. He'll most likely be paralyzed for life and on a ventilator." He frowned.

"That must have been a hard case." I told him softly as I held his hand.

"It certainly wasn't the highlight of my day." He agreed. "What about your day?"

"Exceptionally long." I sighed.

"Tough cases?" He asked.

"One exceptionally tough one. Mostly, it's tough because I simply can't figure out what is bothering my new patient. She's only five, and very distant. I just don't know; I have a bad feeling." I admitted.

"Well, trust your instincts." He told me. "Are you thinking abuse?"

"Possibly. Eleazar seems to think so. In his words "she's been trained well" when it comes to speaking." I frowned.

We continued speaking of Rosalie for a little while longer and then we got to eating dinner, and talking about our weekend plans. We had decided that we would go on a long weekend, so Thursday until Monday, to our cabin in Alaska to escape from the world. We did this occasionally, and always enjoyed our time spent there.

After dinner, we got everything cleaned up, got showered and in pajamas, and then curled up together on the couch, flipping the TV on to watch Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, which was on Freeform. We may be adults, but we still appreciated Harry Potter and Disney Movies. In fact, if anyone saw our DVD collection, they would probably assume we had children, but truly, we were just overgrown kids ourselves.

After the movie, around 10:00PM, we were both exhausted, and decided to just go to sleep. I was glad to have had a relaxing evening with my husband after such a stressful day.