Darius reached over and touched the side of the mug.

It was barely lukewarm.

I stepped in and changed the subject, defused it, made it small — because I was not ready.

I had a mountain of evidence half-built, and I would not risk it by forcing a confrontation before it was ready to hold weight in a courtroom.

I got my keys and drove Esme to school, and on the way I told her, as gently and as seriously as I have ever said anything, that she must never take food or drink from her grandmother again unless I was standing right beside her.

“Is Grandma trying to hurt you, Mommy?” she asked, her eyes filling, her small hands twisting the strap of her backpack.