Hallie had yet to wake up. Her tiny frame was covered in tubes, her pale face ghostly white beneath the oxygen mask.
I sat beside her bed, gently holding her small hand. My tears fell, one after another, onto the back of it.
“Baby… please… wake up…” I muttered desperately.
“Mommy will never let anyone hurt you again…” I promised.
I didn’t close my eyes for a single moment that night.
The next afternoon, Sherree arrived in a black dress, holding a bouquet of lilies. She stood at the ICU door, her face plastered with a false, sweet smile.
“Delane, I’m here to apologize to Hallie,” she began.
I shot to my feet and glared at her. “Get out!”
When it came to Sherree, I felt both hatred and fear. I was terrified she would lose control again and hurt my daughter once more.
Sherree put on an innocent, confused look. “Delane, I really know I was wrong. That day, I lost control… I was scared too… I didn’t mean it. Please, let me in, just for a moment. I just want to say one thing to her. Just one.”
My whole body trembled with rage. I stepped protectively in front of my daughter’s bed, my voice almost a roar.