She was burning up.

I called 911 with one hand and lifted her with the other. The dispatcher answered at 2:07 a.m. I gave the address. I told her Lily was breathing but weak.

I told her she was hot to the touch. I told her I didn’t know what she’d been given.

“Sir, are there any medications nearby?”

That was when I saw the orange prescription bottle.

It sat on the kitchen counter beside the coffee cup. The label was turned partly away, but I could see enough to know it wasn’t Lily’s name on it. It wasn’t a child’s medicine.