“You fuss over her every single morning at the breakfast table, Rebecca.”

I pressed my lips together and waited for him to finish.

“You feel her forehead while she’s eating her cereal,” Daniel went on, speaking with terrible, gentle precision.

“You ask her four times before the school bus comes whether her stomach feels tight, and then her body produces the exact symptoms you spent twenty minutes waiting to see.”

“She was sitting on a hallway bench at school yesterday because she couldn’t stand up,” I said.

“She turns her stress into physical symptoms because she knows it brings you running,” he said, holding out his hand as if he were offering a reasonable explanation.