That night, while we were cleaning the last pie pan, she came up behind me and hugged me around the waist.
“You never gave up on me,” she said quietly.
I turned around. “Never.”
At 5:12 the next morning, someone started pounding on my door.
Not knocking. Pounding.
Every muscle in my body locked.
I woke up panicked.
Lila sat upright on the couch where she’d fallen asleep during a movie. “Mom?”
My heart was slamming.
I peeked through the curtain.
Two police officers.
Armed.
Every muscle in my body locked.
I felt her press closer behind me.
Lila was behind me in seconds, gripping the back of my shirt.
“Mom,” she whispered, “what’s happening?”
I had no answer.
I opened the door three inches. “Yes?”
One officer, a woman maybe in her 40s, said, “Are you Rowan?”
My throat was dry. “Yes.”
“And your daughter Lila is here?”
My mind went everywhere bad at once.
I felt her press closer behind me.
“She’s here,” I said. “What is this about?”
The officer looked right at me and said, “Ma’am, we need to talk to you about what your daughter did yesterday.”
My whole body went cold.