“Yes.”
“Yet you refused to give it to her?”
Elaine’s jaw tightened.
“I was teaching her respect.”
For nearly twenty minutes, I had been moving too fast to feel anything properly.
At 3:17 p.m., Lily had called me gasping.
By 3:29, police were on the way.
At 3:31, the ambulance had been dispatched.
At 3:36, I had turned onto our street and seen flashing red and blue lights washing over our windows.
Now I was finally standing still.
That was when the fear became anger.
Not loud anger.
Something colder.
The kind that arrives when the person who endangered your child keeps explaining why she believes she was entitled to do it.
The paramedic adjusted Lily’s mask.
“Slow breaths for me, sweetheart.”
Lily nodded.
Her eyes found mine.
I moved close enough that she could touch my wrist without removing either hand from the mask.
“You’re okay,” I whispered. “Mommy’s right here.”
