I unfolded the sheet and smoothed out the creases against the steering wheel.

I read the one row of text one more time.

I sat staring at the printed message: get her out of Lily’s chair, smack her if you have to.

Two weeks later I was wiping down the kitchen counter with a damp towel.

Emma sat at the wooden table drawing a house with a green crayon.

At nine o’clock sharp, someone knocked twice on my door.

I went into the living room.