My husband pushed me down the stairs, and as I lay shattered at the bottom, my mother-in-law called my father and said, “Come get your worthless daughter and take her back.” Dad gave her only one warning: “If she has so much as a scratch, your family will answer for it.” They laughed at him because they had absolutely no idea who my father truly was.

In every imagined version I had explained everything.

In the real room, I asked about kindergarten.

She told me a boy named Theo had brought a caterpillar to class and that the teacher had insisted it was a class visitor, not a pet.

She described lunch, her missing purple crayon, and the way Grandma Celeste cut the crusts from sandwiches even though Lily liked crusts.

Then she asked, “Did I make Daddy mad?”

The room seemed to contract.