“I’ve got everything handled.”
“She’s been a little clingy today.
Don’t let her stay up too late.”
He gave me a distracted smile.
“Go make your money.
We’ll be fine.”
I kissed him on the cheek.
He smelled faintly of a perfume I didn’t recognize.
I remember noticing it, then immediately telling myself that he probably had hugged a coworker.
I had become very good at providing innocent explanations for things I didn’t want to examine.
At 5:36 p.m., Grant sent a photograph of Maisie in her car seat.
She was holding her yellow duck and grinning.
His message said, “Picked up our girl.
All good.”
I replied with a heart.
For the next two hours, I concentrated on trimming banners and correcting a printing error that had ruined a stack of flyers.
At 7:18, I glanced at my phone during a short break.
No messages.
I considered calling Grant, but I knew he disliked being interrupted when he was alone with Maisie.
He had recently started accusing me of checking up on him too often.
So I went back to work.
At 7:42 p.m., my phone rang.
The number was unfamiliar.
Normally, I wouldn’t have answered during a rush job.
Something made me pick it up.
“Hello?”
A woman spoke so quickly that I could barely understand her.
“Is this Maisie’s mother? My name is Tessa.
There’s been an accident.
An ambulance is coming.”
I heard a child screaming in the background.
I knew that voice immediately.
“What happened? Where’s Grant?”
“Your husband dropped her off with me earlier.
He said you were traveling.
I’m so sorry.
She pulled a placemat and a cup of hot broth spilled.
I called 911 right away.”
I gripped the edge of the worktable.
“What do you mean he dropped her off?”
“I’m watching her tonight.
He arranged it.”
The printing machines continued running behind me.
Their mechanical rhythm seemed impossibly loud.
“Give me the address,” I said.
Tessa did.
Then she told me the paramedics were arriving.
I abandoned the unfinished order, grabbed my keys, and ran to my car.
My supervisor shouted something from the doorway.
I don’t remember what it was.
I only remember driving through the wet Louisville streets with both hands clamped around the steering wheel, calling Grant through the car’s hands-free system.
Voicemail.
Again.
Voicemail.
By the sixth attempt, I was begging an electronic recording to answer me.
When I reached Tessa’s apartment building, an ambulance was parked beside the sidewalk.
One paramedic was speaking into a radio.
Another was adjusting a stretcher.
Maisie was lying on it, frightened and exhausted, with emergency dressings covering her left arm and shoulder.
Her dinosaur sweater had been removed during treatment.
She reached toward me with her uninjured hand.
“Mama.”
It was such a small word.
But hearing it nearly brought me to my knees.
I climbed into the ambulance and held her hand while the paramedic checked her breathing and explained what was happening.
Tessa had immediately cooled the injured area with running water, called 911, and followed the dispatcher’s instructions.
The paramedic said those first actions had been important.
I was grateful that the woman who had been caring for Maisie had reacted quickly.
But one question kept pounding through my mind.
Why had my husband left our
