She was sitting on the exam table in pink socks, twisting the bottom of her T-shirt between both fists, while the paper beneath her legs crackled every time she shifted.
Only minutes earlier, she had answered a question that changed the entire evening.
Dr. Stevens had crouched in front of her and asked what Grandma had told her the pills were for.
Emma had said, “For being good.”
He had stayed calm and asked what being good meant.
My daughter looked at me before she answered.
“Grandma said they help
