My hands went still on the cool metal of the bed rail.

“What happened last month?”

“I dropped my blue crayon on the rug in the front room,” Emma whispered.

“Aunt Vanessa grabbed my arm really hard and pinched me right here.

She told me I was a bad girl.”

She pointed her small thumb straight at the dark oval bruise on her upper arm.

“Did you tell Grandma?” I asked softly.

“Grandma was standing right next to the sink,” Emma said.