Grace was sitting up in bed, pulling her gray sweatshirt sleeves down over her thumbs.

The frayed cuffs were tucked tight around her wrists, the way she always did when she felt unsure.

“Is Dad coming back tonight?” she asked softly.

“No,” I said, sitting down on the edge of the mattress beside her.

“He won’t be coming back here.”

She looked down at the hospital blanket, her thumbs twisting the cotton into tight knots.

“Is he going to stop the doctor from doing the operation?”