A heavy cloud of trapped, stale heat poured out of the deep box like the air from an open oven.

At the bottom of the deep white plastic tub lay my two-year-old daughter, Lily, curled on her side on top of her pink plush fleece blanket.

Her skin was flushed a dark crimson, and her thin blond hair was plastered flat against her scalp in heavy, sweat-soaked streaks.

“Lily,” I rasped, reaching both arms down into the narrow opening.

Her body was hot to the touch, like a brick left out under the desert sun, and her pink fleece blanket was soaked straight through with sweat.

She didn’t scream or cry when my hands caught her under the arms.