“Cold water,” I yelled. “Emma, keep your eyes closed. Don’t rub.”
Daniel held her steady while I rinsed her face.
Water ran over her wrists and soaked the front of her Christmas pajamas.
Her wet hair stuck to her forehead.
She was sobbing so hard that each breath came in a broken pull.
Behind us, wrapping paper covered the living-room floor.
The red ribbon had landed beside the open cream jar.
Richard still had not moved.
Not one step.
Daniel looked over his shoulder at him.
“What was in that?”
Richard’s mouth tightened, but his voice stayed calm.
“It’s skincare. She probably had a reaction.”
“A reaction?” I snapped. “Look at her.”
He took one slow sip of coffee.
That small motion frightened me more than shouting would have.
Emma was screaming at our kitchen sink, and he was drinking coffee as though we were arguing over a spilled cup of juice.
