“Daniel, she’s an elderly woman.

She wouldn’t hurt a child.”

I watched Piper sleep under the hospital blanket.

There was a faint red line on her wrist where she had tried to brace herself against the lid.

“Come to the hospital,” I said.

“Listen to your daughter before you decide whom to believe.”

Whitney went quiet.

Our divorce had been exhausting but outwardly ordinary: disagreements over money, work, trust, and the weekends each of us would spend with Piper.