“That isn’t true.”
My daughter flinched at the sound of her voice.
I saw it.
That tiny reaction told me more than an argument could have.
I lowered my voice.
“You don’t have to defend yourself to me. Just tell me what happened.”
My daughter stared at the walker.
“She said I was going to embarrass her.”
“Where?”
“At the store.”
Her stepmother folded her arms.
“She was refusing to move at a normal pace.”
“She is wearing a brace,” I said.
“I know.”
“And you took the walker.”
“She was becoming dependent.”
My daughter looked at me.
“I fell.”
The room went still.
“When?” I asked.
“Last week.”
“Where?”
“In the hallway.”
“Did she help you?”
My daughter hesitated.
“She told me to get up.”
I closed my eyes for a second.
Not because I was calm. Because I was trying very hard to remain calm.
When I opened them, my daughter was still holding the walker.
