“No, I’ve got it,” Sadie said.

She pressed hard on the metal latch with her thumb.

The pin bent sideways, slid off the seam and jabbed right into the pad of her left index finger.

Sadie made a small, sharp noise in her throat and snatched her hand back.

A dark bead of blood welled up on her fingertip.

She didn’t cry out, and she didn’t stick her finger in her mouth.

She just sat perfectly still in the middle of the kitchen, watching the tiny red drop fall onto the navy skirt and spread into a dark circle on the old blue fabric.