I was afraid she’d ask why I had waited, but she only laid a hand between my shoulders and said, “Tell me what you need me to do.” For the first time in weeks, I had an answer.

“Please stay with her when I need to talk to the police.

I don’t want her waking up alone.” My mother nodded, pulled a chair next to the bed, and opened the rabbit’s worn fabric ear so Harper could hold it when she woke.

Later, as I watched my mother sit beside her granddaughter, I realized how much energy I’d spent trying not to upset my husband.

My fear of his anger had begun determining ordinary decisions: whether I called a doctor, whether I asked the school a question, whether I trusted something I’d seen with my own eyes.