“Wonderful,” I tell her.

I’ve had to learn how to smile and hold in the tears every time I see her face. She’s still too self-conscious to play around the other children at the clinic. This Saturday afternoon we have the playroom to ourselves. Our audience is a nurse doing some paperwork in the corner and a wall full of cheery Disney princesses accepting kisses from frogs and cavorting with cute animals.

Elsie had us sit in the pirate section of the playroom. A mural behind her depicts a valiant battle between lost boys and a haggard crew of buccaneers. The first time she sat me down here, I thought it was so she could look at the princess murals. After several magic lessons, I realized she’s an adventurer at heart and likes being close to the action.

So much potential, ruined by the burns . . . I have to stop myself. I’m already prejudging the rest of her life. I’m deciding what she can and cannot do, which is what everyone did to me. That’s what Grandfather did. That’s what Father did. Even Mother, God rest her soul, even she did that.

“Can I learn how to do the next part?” Small teeth bite the edge of her lip expectantly. A lock of dirty blond hair falls in front of her eyes and I have to resist an inborn motherly urge to brush it aside. The skin is still healing and sensitive. I can smell the balm the nurse rubbed on it before my visit.

“Of course, Elsie.” I show her the move I used. She watches every minute detail.

I think more and more lately about what it would be like to have my own child. Apparently that happens when you’re closer to thirty than twenty. I’d sworn it off when I was younger. I didn’t want to put anyone else through the fractured childhood I had. I was loved, to be certain, but loved by people who didn’t know how to love themselves.

I feel guilty when I see Elsie sitting there on the colored carpet, struggling with the magic trick. My dysfunctional family has nothing on hers. The scars I have are only the ones I hold on to. She has to go through life with hers visible to the world.

A little while later she’s able to do the trick. Crudely, but she has the idea. She’s eight but has the patience of a much older girl. She’s got the drive of nobody I’ve ever met. I wish I could have known Elsie before her mother threw the pot of boiling water in her face. Was she this strong before that?

I was introduced to Elsie two months ago when I showed up at the children’s hospital and volunteered to teach magic tricks as a form of therapy. It’s something I’ve done since college and continued all the way through my career in law enforcement. It’s probably the only part of me I haven’t tried to reinvent in some way.