"What happened, Peri?!"
It was one of those days. Beatrice was buried in a stack of files in her office when the door creaked open.
Her little daughter stood there—eyes brimming with tears, dirt smeared across her porcelain skin, and a thin trail of blood on her lip.
Beatrice's heart clenched. She hurried to her, kneeling down so their eyes met.
She reached to wipe the blood away, but Peri suddenly lifted both hands and stopped her.
In a trembling voice, broken by sobs, the girl asked, "Where is my Father, mama? Why doesn't he come to save me?"
Beatrice's shoulders sank. "What happened, baby?" she whispered.
Tears spilled from Peri's big, watery eyes. "Dorothy's father came to save her when we were fighting. He glared at me, then hugged her until she stopped crying. Why didn't my father come, mama?"
"Oh, my poor child…" Beatrice wrapped her in a tight embrace, her own voice shaking.
