I was chopping vegetables when my four-year-old daughter

she lifts another.

“Grandma said the first one didn’t work.”

I close my eyes.

The room disappears for one second. There is no doctor, no nurse, no buzzing phone. There is only my daughter at the breakfast table, small hands around a cup of milk, Diane standing over her with that patient, cold smile.

The door opens again, and a receptionist appears with continue reading …