“What did she say?”
“She said I was exaggerating.”
Everything rearranged in my head—Emma flinching, going quiet, begging me not to work Saturdays.
I didn’t see it.
“Look at me,” I said softly.
She did.
“You did the right thing telling me,” I said.
Her lip trembled. “But the recital…”
“We’re not going.”
Her eyes widened. “But I practiced—”
“I know. And I’m proud of you. But this matters more.”
She stared like she didn’t know adults were allowed to choose her over plans.
“Pack a bag,” I said. “Whatever makes you feel safe.”
“Are we leaving?”
“Yes. Right now.”
She moved fast, like she’d been waiting for permission.
While she packed, I called my sister, Rachel.
“I need you,” I said.
“What happened?”
“It’s Emma. I’m bringing her over.”
“Is she hurt?”
“Yes.”
“Come now,” Rachel said. “I’ll handle the rest.”
When we went downstairs, the house looked painfully normal.
Megan smiled. “Good, you’re ready. Emma, why aren’t you dressed?”
