Emily swallowed hard, her short, shallow breaths rasping faintly against the support binder wrapped around her chest.

“He told me he was trying,” Emily whispered, so quietly she could hardly be heard.

“I honestly believed he was trying.”

Sarah stepped back toward the door to the hall, gave Richard a short, knowing nod, and slipped the chart into the holder on the wall outside.

Richard got up from the metal chair and rested his arms on the bed rail, looking down into his daughter’s pale face.

“We need to talk about what you left behind at that house, Emmy,” Richard said quietly.