This morning, Gabrielle came rushing to my room, gasping and sobbing, weeping and wailing. Between great gasps for breath, whimpers, and snivels, she managed to choke out, “Raphael … hit … me … with … a very hard car!”
She continued to wail uncontrollably as I searched her body for injury. Finding none, I shouted above the sound of her cries, “Where are you hurt?” but she was howling too hard to answer.
Finally, I said, “I need to talk to that Raphael.”
At the sound of these words, the sobbing ceased. My distressed daughter found instant composure.
“He’s in his bedroom,” the victim told me plainly. “I’ll go get him for you.”
And then she skipped from the room.