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

times, yes.

Emma wakes during the questions and turns her head toward the door.

“Is Grandma coming?”

“No,” I say.

“Promise?”

My throat closes.

“I promise.”

The social worker crouches beside her.

“Emma, can I ask you something?”

Emma looks at me first. I nod.

“Did Grandma ever tell you where the pills came from?”

Emma rubs the bunny’s ear between her fingers.

“From continue reading …