Her small head turned slowly toward the light, her eyes wide and still.

“Mommy,” she whispered.

Her voice was flat and thin as paper.

“I’m right here,” I said, reaching into the dark to slide my hands beneath her arms.

She clung to my neck as I lifted her out into the hall.

Her fingers twisted into the shoulder seam of my gray wool cardigan, holding on so tightly her knuckles went white.

Her red plush rabbit stayed squashed between us.