“I didn’t see the message until I got here.”

Denise leaned in and quit tapping her pen.

“Rachel, we have a four-year-old girl with a serious head bruise,” Denise said.

“We have a mother who wrote on a medical form that a cast iron skillet was thrown.

And now we have a text message telling someone to handle that child.”

I stared at the blue tissue box on the table.

“It was just an ordinary morning,” I said.