scarf and gently pressed it beside her face.
She flinched.
That almost destroyed me.
Not the blood or the cold.
The flinch.
My daughter, who had once raced barefoot through the yard to bring me dandelions, now expected pain whenever a hand approached her face.
I wanted to howl.
I did not.
A mother could collapse later.
A witness could not.
Listen to me, I said. Did Marcus drive you here.
She blinked slowly. Yes.
Did anyone see him.
Maybe cameras, she whispered. He parked by the east entrance. Sylvia
