She nodded meekly. Taking her into the bathroom across the hall, I dabbed at the cut while she squeezed the life out of the rabbit, until the bleeding stopped, then I dotted kisses on her cheeks and nose and neck until she collapsed into a giggle fit. She held out her finger, where the paper cut had turned an angry red, and I kissed that too before wrapping it in a Paw Patrol Band-Aid. When I had discovered that the kids show supported the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, I happily purchased the cartoony Dalmatian- and German-shepherd-themed bandages. Sydney smiled and hugged her tiny arms around my neck, squeezing her thanks. Owie cured.

“You’re the best mommy ever.” Her standards were pretty low.

I hefted her into my arms and tossed the Band-Aid wrapper in the trashcan. Downstairs the dogs continued barking as Eliot yelled at them, his voice growing more frantic by the moment.

The disciplinary part of my job always escalated the drama, but I couldn’t let it go.

“Eliot!” I yelled over the dogs’ baying as I descended the stairs. “Syd told me you pushed her.” My voice lowered an accusatory decibel. “You know better than to hurt your sister.” I reached the first floor when a piercing cry nudged me into a sprint.

“Moooooommmm! Help!” Eliot sobbed.

I whipped around the doorway, finding Eliot in the kitchen trying to pick up shards of glass with his little bare fingers.

“Whoa, what happened here, bud?” I shifted Sydney to my hip and rushed to where Eliot knelt on the glass-besieged floor, his face apple red.

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he looked up at me, grabbing Brutus by the collar to keep him from cutting his paws.

“It was an accident! I was getting a cup and it dropped and broke, and when Syd came over I tried to push her away so she wouldn’t get cut, but then she fell and hurt her lip. And I can’t clean it up without the dogs trying to run through the glass…”

When he finished his breathless defense, I realized—once again—how I failed as a mom. Here my eight-year-old son had been scrambling to keep everyone safe while I obliviously wallowed in my sorrow upstairs. It was a recurring theme lately: my negligence, my absentmindedness, my disconnect. My despair.

I couldn’t seem to find my way out of the darkness. Not when my only light—my daughter—was missing.

“I’m so sorry, honey.” I said that a lot these days. “It’s okay, Eliot.” I pulled him aside, drying his tears on my shirt. “Let me clean this up while you put on Captain Underpants for you and Syd.”