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

makes Andrew turn away.

When the social worker leaves, Andrew sinks into the chair near the wall.

“Pink drink,” he says.

I do not speak.

He looks at me.

“I thought Mom was helping.”

“So did I.”

“She said you were exhausted. That Emma was acting out because you let her run wild. She said you needed rest.”

“And you believed her.”

His eyes shine.

“I wanted to believe continue reading …