I turned back to Hazel.

I bent my head over her and kissed the top of her burning little head, and I whispered to her that everything was going to be okay, that we were going to get her all fixed up, that Mama had her, and I honestly could not have told you whether I was reassuring my daughter or myself.

Probably both.

Probably neither of us believed me.

But I said it anyway, over and over, into her hair, while somewhere outside those doors my husband made a phone call I did not yet understand, and the minutes ticked by, and we waited.