She looked at her father.
Then back at me.
“I didn’t draw it yesterday.”
My stomach dropped.
“What do you mean?”
She pulled the blanket tighter.
“I drew it last week.”
My husband said, “Enough.”
The pediatrician raised her hand.
“Let her finish.”
My daughter swallowed.
“I was going to give it to Mom.”
“Why didn’t you?”
She looked at Dad.
“He found it.”
My husband didn’t move.
“He found it,” she repeated.
I could barely breathe.
“What did Dad do with it?”
My daughter looked down.
“He said I shouldn’t make Mom worried.”
My husband finally spoke.
“That isn’t what happened.”
My daughter flinched.
The pediatrician stepped closer to her.
“You don’t have to answer anything else right now.”
But my daughter shook her head.
“No.”
She looked at me.
“I want to tell.”
My husband stared at her.
I took her hand.
