“Tessa showed me where it was.”
Her face tightened.
“Tessa, I told you never to touch that.”
“Don’t,” I said.
My voice came out sharper than I intended, and Miles startled against me.
I lowered it immediately.
“She is nine years old. She is exhausted. She has been alone with an eight-month-old baby since before lunch. You are not making this her problem.”
Their mother looked at Tessa again.
Tessa pulled her knees closer to herself.
That was enough for me.
I carried Miles into the living room, settled him against my shoulder, and told Tessa she could sit on the couch where I could still see her from the kitchen.
“You don’t have to explain anything else right now,” I told her. “You don’t have to listen to anything either.”
She nodded and climbed onto the couch without arguing, which somehow made me feel worse.
Tessa was normally the kid who negotiated everything from bedtime to how many strawberries counted as a serving.
