His mother called.
He turned.
Then Lily coughed behind her mask.
Daniel looked toward the ambulance.
And he chose his daughter.
He climbed inside without answering Elaine.
She stared after him.
I cannot know what that moment felt like to her.
I know what it looked like.
Like the first consequence she could not argue away.
At the hospital, Lily’s breathing gradually settled.
Her color returned.
Her hands stopped trembling around the mask.
When the treatment finally ended, she leaned against me, exhausted.
Daniel sat beside the bed.
He had barely spoken since arriving.
Then Lily whispered, “Daddy?”
He moved closer.
“Right here.”
“Am I in trouble?”
Daniel closed his eyes.
I watched his face collapse.
“No.”
His voice cracked.
“No, baby. Never for asking for your medicine.”
Lily looked between us.
“Grandma said I was rude.”
Daniel took her hand.
“You can be angry. You can disagree. You can even be rude sometimes, and we’ll deal with that separately.”
