She didn’t wait for Emma to get up.

Vanessa lifted the heavy black skillet off the burner, stepped forward, and flung the iron pan hard, straight at my daughter’s head.

The heavy iron rim caught Emma just above her left temple.

Emma toppled backward off the wooden bench onto the linoleum, her little legs tangled under the knocked-over table chair.

I smoothed my third-grade teacher’s skirt down over my knees, pulling the fabric as flat and smooth as it would go.

“Look at the angle of the throw,” Detective Mitchell said, aiming a red laser pointer at the screen.