In that instant, without anyone else at the table yet realizing it, the entire balance of power in the room shifted, and it shifted into the small hands of a seven-year-old girl.

The morning before, on Christmas, Chloe had been the object of the scene, the one it happened to, forced to sit and endure while the adults around her calculated how much of a fuss they were willing to make on her behalf.

She had been powerless, a child waiting to see whether the grown-ups would rescue her.

This morning was different, and the difference was everything.

This morning, the decision belonged to her, and to her alone.