My six-year-old daughter, so small, was covered in blood, lying there all alone. Bright red blood dripped from the bed to the floor, a painfully stark sight.
Emily was still clutching a torn milkshake bag in her tiny hand.
I rushed over immediately.
Emily opened her eyes and. Seeing me, she cried.
"Mommy, Daddy said that if I got Ms. Joseph her milkshake, he will accompany me to participate in kindergarten activities."
As she spoke, blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.
Hearing her mention Ms. Joseph, I instantly understood.
Louise Joseph was Jeffrey's childhood friend.
"Emily, stop talking. Mommy will save you. You'll get better. It's all Mommy's fault. I shouldn't have left you with Daddy."
I cried uncontrollably.
Emily lifted her hand slowly to wipe away my tears.
"Mommy, don't cry. It's all my fault. I spilled the milkshake, and Ms. Josep didn't get to drink it. Daddy won't take me to the kindergarten event now. I don't want Daddy to be mad at me!"
As Emily finished speaking, her small hand fell from my face, and my heart twisted in unbearable pain.
"Emily, don't sleep. Daddy won't be mad at you. We love you so much. How could we ever be mad at you?"