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When my daughter was rushed to the hospital, I thought the worst was over. Then the doctor pulled me aside, gave me an envelope, and told me to vanish with my grandchildren before nightfall.

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A security guard appeared at the far end of the hallway. Dr. Carter never blinked. “Tonight, we can.”

Inside the room, Emily looked smaller than I had ever seen her in my life. Her lip was split. One eye had swollen nearly shut. Her wrist was bandaged, and older bruises darkened her arm.

Her eyes opened the moment I touched her hand.

“Mom?”

“I’m here.”

“The kids?”

“They’re with me.”

Her fingers gripped mine with desperate force. “Don’t let him take them.”

“I won’t.”

Tears slid into her hairline. “I tried to leave.”

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