Sophie twisted her gray rabbit’s ears, keeping her chin tucked down against her chest.

She stood completely silent between us.

“She hardly touched her vegetable soup at lunch today,” Margaret said, moving closer to Grant by the stair rail.

“A child her age needs structure and stability, not constant domestic friction.”

I knelt on the rug beside Sophie, carefully undid the misplaced wooden button, and smoothed the red wool knit over her shoulders.

“Come upstairs with me, sweet pea.

Let’s get you into a nice warm bath before supper.”