Her chin began to shake.
“I spilled fruit punch on the rug yesterday,” she told me. “Mom got really mad.”
She paused long enough that I could hear the vent above us click.
“She grabbed my arm, and I tried to pull away. Then I hit the dresser.”
I kept my hands open where she could see them.
“What happened after that?”
“She said it happened because I make her lose control.”
Some adults treat blame like a heavy box.
They keep handing it to the smallest person in the room because they do not want to carry it themselves.
I did not raise my voice.
I did not call for Caroline.
I did not ask Ella to perform her pain twice just because I needed more details.
I held out my hand.
