I ran a warm bath — not to wash off the grime, but to get the cold out of her. She sat rigid in the tub with her knees against her chest, not touching the bubbles.

“Mommy?” Her voice came off the tile.

I sat down on the bathmat, ignoring the water soaking my jeans, and held her wet hand. “I’m right here.”

“Was I bad?”

Something turned over in my chest.

“No,” I said, holding her eyes. “You were wonderful. You are never, ever bad.”