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

In the kitchen, he saw the evidence he would later replay in his mind with cruel precision: an empty cereal box on the counter, a sink full of dishes, half a bottle of ketchup in the refrigerator, no milk, no fruit, no leftovers—nothing that a six-year-old could feed himself or his little sister. A child’s cup sat next to the sink, dried juice stuck to the bottom.

He didn’t allow himself to think anymore. He carried Elsie out of the car, put Micah in the back, and headed towards Vanderbilt Children’s Hospital, hazard lights on, one hand on the steering wheel and the other reaching back every few seconds, as if mere proximity could keep his two children close to him.

From the back seat, Micah asked in such a low voice that Rowan almost didn’t hear him,  “Is Mom angry?”

Rowan kept his eyes fixed on the road.  “No. Your mother isn’t angry with you. Right now, I need you to listen to me, okay? I’m here for you. I’m here for both of you.”

Micah remained silent for a moment.

Then he said,  “I tried to make some cookies for Elsie, but she wouldn’t eat them.”

Rowan felt his throat burn.  “You did the right thing by calling me.”

The bright lights of the emergency room

The emergency room doors slid open, and within seconds, a nurse greeted him with a stretcher.

“How old is she?”

“Three,”  Rowan replied.  “High fever, barely responsive, she’s not eating, and I think they’ve been alone for too long.”

The nurse’s expression hardened immediately, but her voice remained calm.  “We’ll bring her back now.”

Another nurse crouched down next to Micah.  “Hey, sweetheart, do you want to stay with your dad while we take care of your sister?”

Micah grabbed the bottom of Rowan’s pants and nodded without saying a word.

Rowan knelt down, even when the orderlies took Elsie away.  “They’re taking care of her. I’m not going anywhere.”

Micah’s eyes filled with tears.  “She’ll be okay, won’t she?”