“Yes,” I say. “Where is she?” My voice shakes and I press my hand against my throat as if to steady my words. “Can I be with her?”

“The doctor is looking at her right now. Let me get some information from you and then we’ll take you back to her.” I answer her questions as quickly as possible and then take a seat to fill out the reams of paperwork. When I get to the section that asks for a list of family members I think of Max.

I forgot about him. I pull my phone from my pocket. He still doesn’t answer and I shoot off another text to him telling him to call me immediately. “I’m going to kill him,” I mutter and am immediately sorry. How can I say something like that after what happened to Violet and Cora?

“Ms. Crow,” the receptionist says, approaching me. “I can take you to see your daughter now.”

She leads me down a hallway to a boxy room where Violet lies atop an examination table, face turned away from the door. Her bloody clothing has been removed, snipped from her body and tossed to the floor. All she is wearing is her underwear and a training bra that she doesn’t really need. Both are streaked with red. Her hands look as if they’ve been dipped in red paint, a stark contrast to her pale forearms. I scour her skin in search of any wounds but find none. I look to the doctor, a tall man who gives me a reassuring nod. “Looks like only a few bumps and bruises but we’ll check her over carefully.” He turns to one of the nurses. “Let’s get a heated blanket on her and then we can get her cleaned up.”

“But all the blood…” I begin.

“It’s not your daughter’s,” he says and I nearly collapse with relief. “I’m Dr. Soto. You can come on over next to her,” the doctor invites and I go to Violet’s side.

I bend over her and lay the palm of my hand against her cheek. Her skin is cold to the touch. “Violet, honey,” I whisper, “what happened?” She blinks up at me and I see no recognition in her eyes. She opens her mouth but no words come out, only a weak croak. I think of head injuries, drugs and monstrous acts that might leave a child speechless. Panicked, I look to Dr. Soto, who has stripped the bloody gloves from his hands and drops them into a hazardous waste container.

“She’s in shock,” he explains as if reading my mind. “We’ll get her warmed up, give her fluids and watch her vitals. Barring any complications, she most likely will be able to go home today.”

“I want to stay with her,” I say, bracing myself for a fight. There’s no way I’m going to leave her side.