His hand dropped immediately. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking despite himself. “I didn’t mean to. Tell me what happened.”
Emily glanced down the hallway, eyes darting toward the empty space beyond the bedroom, breathing shallow.
“She got mad,” she said after a long pause. “I spilled juice. She said I did it on purpose. She pushed me into the closet. My back hit the handle. I couldn’t breathe. I thought I was going to disappear.”
Daniel felt like the air had been knocked out of him.
“Did she take you to a doctor?” he asked, though dread had already answered the question.
Emily shook her head. “She wrapped it and said it would heal. She said doctors ask too many questions. She told me not to touch it and not to tell anyone.”
He swallowed hard. “Can I see it, Emily?”
Tears pooled in her eyes, but she nodded. Slowly, carefully, she turned around and lifted the back of her shirt. The bandage underneath was old, uneven, darkened in places. The skin around it was bruised and swollen—and the faint scent in the air confirmed his fear before his mind could catch up.
Daniel’s knees weakened. He gripped the edge of the bed to steady himself.