For one terrible second, I thought the room was empty.
Then I heard the faintest voice from behind the bed.
“Mom?”
My daughter Lily crawled out from the narrow space between the mattress and the wall. Her cheeks were flushed red, her hair stuck to her forehead, and her lips looked dry and cracked. She still wore the yellow sundress I had dressed her in earlier that morning before I left for the emergency pharmacy trip.
I dropped my bag instantly.
“Lily? What happened?”
She tried to stand, but her knees gave out beneath her. I caught her before she hit the carpet. Her skin burned with heat. Her tiny hands clutched my shirt like she was terrified I would disappear too.
“Grandma said I couldn’t come,” she whispered weakly. “She said there wasn’t enough room on the boat.”
My stomach turned to ice.
