"""Mark walked into the dining room carrying four-year-old Rosie, whose face was pressed into his chest. A purple bruise marked her cheek, and red finger-shaped marks surrounded both arms.

Rosie fell asleep before the doctor finished writing her notes.

Even asleep, she held the star blanket in both fists. I sat beside her hospital bed and tried to remember every minute I had been away from my parents’ house.

I had gone to the car for her breathing treatment. I couldn’t find the carrying case at first. I checked the trunk, then found it beneath my jacket on the back seat.

Twelve minutes.

I had left Rosie with her grandparents, her aunt, and a cousin who loved her. I had kissed the top of her head before I went.

The doctor came back with a social worker named Ms. Carter. Rosie’s breathing was steady. Her injuries did not require her to stay overnight, but they needed to document what had happened and make a report.

I told them everything I had seen.

When I described striking Bethany, I did not lower my voice or call it something else.

“I was angry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have hit her, especially with Rosie in my arms.”

Ms. Carter wrote it down.

She asked whether Rosie had ever said she was afraid of Bethany before. I thought of how Rosie sometimes clung to me when Bethany visited. I had believed my sister when she called Rosie shy.

“I saw signs,” I said. “I didn’t understand them.”

A police officer arrived while Rosie slept. I gave her my account and showed her a photograph of the marks on Rosie’s arms. She asked about the glass my father had thrown, and I told her where it had landed.

My phone rang four times during our conversation.

Mom. Bethany. Mom again. Then Dad.

I let each call go to voicemail.

“Has anyone threatened you before?” the officer asked.

“My father loses his temper. He’s never thrown anything at Rosie.”

The officer looked at me for a moment. “We’ll speak with the people who were there.”

After she left, I checked my messages.

Mom had left a voicemail. She said Bethany was willing to forget the slap if I came back and apologized. She said Rosie’s cheek had been an accident.

My father’s message was shorter.

“You humiliated this family tonight. Call me before you make it worse.”

I saved both messages.

At two in the morning, Lena texted me.

Is Rosie okay?

I told her Rosie was safe at the hospital. Three dots appeared, vanished, then appeared again.

I need to tell you something, she wrote.

Can you tell me now?

I’m at Grandma’s. Mom has my phone most of the time. I’ll call when I can.

I stared at the message until the screen dimmed.

Bethany was Lena’s mother. Lena had spent weekends at our house when she was little. Leah used to let her help bake birthday cakes, even though Lena usually ate half the frosting before it reached the cake.

She knew how much Rosie missed Leah. She would have understood what my daughter meant by “Mommy would be waiting.”

I looked over at Rosie. I was afraid of what Lena had seen.

At sunrise, my friend Daniel came to the hospital. We had known each other since college, and he had been there for Rosie and me after Leah died. He brought clean clothes for her and coffee for me.

“Come home with us,” he said.

“I want to take her to our house.”

“Then I’ll stay with you tonight.”

I wanted to say I could manage. Instead, I nodded.

Rosie woke when I helped her into fresh clothes. She winced as the sleeve passed over one arm.

“Are we going back to Grandma’s?” she asked.

“No.”

“Ever?”

“You don’t have to go there,” I said.

Her shoulders dropped. She picked up her stuffed rabbit, which Daniel had brought from home, and tucked it under her chin.

On the drive back, she asked if I was angry with her.

“No, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t go where Aunt Beth told me.”

“You never have to go anywhere with someone who scares you.”

She looked out the window.

“She said Mommy wanted to see me.”

I gripped the steering wheel.

“Leah loved you very much,” I said. “Bethany should never have said that.”

Rosie’s voice grew small. “I wanted to see Mommy.”

“I know. I miss her too.”

Daniel sat in the back beside her. He asked if she wanted him to tell the story of the rabbit’s first adventure. She nodded, and he began a ridiculous tale about the rabbit driving a bus to the moon.

Rosie smiled once. It lasted only a second, but I was grateful for it.

At home, I carried her inside. Daniel made breakfast while I changed the sheets on her bed. I put the star blanket from the hospital beside her pillow because she refused to let it go.