“I know.”
“You said I wasn’t supposed to.”
The mother’s expression tightened.
There are moments when a rule that once made perfect sense becomes completely useless in the face of something larger.
She reached for her daughter’s hand.
“You were supposed to get help if you were in danger.”
The girl looked at her carefully.
“We were?”
“Yes.”
“All of us?”
“All of you.”
The answer seemed to settle something that the child had not known how to ask.
Then she touched the key hanging against her sweatshirt.
“He gave it back.”
Her mother looked at the string and closed her eyes for a moment.
She remembered writing the note.
She remembered feeling faint more than once after coming home with the twins.
She remembered telling herself she needed to get up, drink water, make a call, do one more thing.
Then there was nothing until the hospital.
