Rowan swallowed. “She’s sick, buddy. We’re going to get help.”

In the kitchen he caught sight of the evidence he would later replay in his mind in cruel detail: an empty cereal box on the counter, a sink full of dishes, one half bottle of ketchup in the refrigerator, no milk, no fruit, no leftovers, nothing a six-year-old could have used to feed himself or his little sister. A child-sized cup sat beside the sink with dried juice stuck to the bottom.

He did not let himself think any further. He carried Elsie out, ushered Micah into the back seat, and drove toward Vanderbilt Children’s Hospital with his hazard lights flashing, one hand on the wheel and the other reaching back every few seconds as if nearness alone could keep both of his children anchored to him.

From the back seat Micah asked, in a voice so small Rowan almost missed it, “Is Mom mad?”

Rowan kept his eyes on the road. “No. Your mom isn’t mad at you. Right now I need you to listen to me, okay? I’ve got you. I’ve got both of you.”

Micah was quiet for a second.

Then he said, “I tried to make Elsie crackers, but she wouldn’t eat.”

Rowan’s throat burned. “You did the right thing by calling me.”

The Bright Lights Of The ER

The emergency room doors slid open, and within seconds a nurse met him with a gurney.

“How old is she?”

“Three,” Rowan answered. “High fever, barely responsive, she hasn’t been eating, and I think they’ve been alone too long.”

The nurse’s expression sharpened at once, but her voice stayed steady. “We’re taking her back now.”

Another nurse crouched near Micah. “Hey there, sweetheart, do you want to stay with your dad while we help your sister?”

Micah grabbed Rowan’s pant leg and nodded without speaking.

Rowan knelt, even as orderlies wheeled Elsie away. “They’re taking care of her. I’m not going anywhere.”

Micah’s eyes filled. “She’s gonna be okay, right?”