At pickup, my parents took my sister’s children and refused my daughter a ride. When she reached the car, my mother told her to walk home despite the heavy rain. My six-year-old begged, but they drove away, leaving her drenched and in tears.

Mrs. Patterson apologized for calling so late, for “not knowing what the situation was,” but I could barely hear her over the roaring in my ears. I thanked her anyway, because she was the reason Lily wasn’t standing out here alone.

Inside the car, I blasted the heat and wrapped Lily in my coat. Her teeth chattered like she couldn’t stop them. I buckled her in carefully, wiping rain from her forehead.

“Tell me what happened,” I said, as gently as I could manage.

Lily sniffed. “They came like normal. Their silver car. I ran to it.”

Her voice wobbled, but she pushed through, like she needed me to know every detail.

“I went to open the door… and Grandma didn’t open it. She rolled down the window just a little.”

My hands tightened on the steering wheel.

“What did she say, baby?”

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