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He laid down the paper and took a sip of his coffee. “Why don’t you tell me the real reason you’re on edge tonight.”
    Megan sighed. She bit her lip before standing up and glancing out the sliding doors. She drank in the sight of them, all together. She knew she was overreacting, that if she just took the time to really work her way through everything, she’d realize she was making a mountain out of a molehill.
    “Have you ever noticed Emma not responding when you call her name?” She closed her eyes, not wanting to look at his reflection in the glass, afraid of what she’d see.
    “No.”
    Maybe it was the tone of his voice or the way he cleared his throat, but when Megan opened her eyes and looked over hershoulder, she’d almost wished she hadn’t. His brows were knit together and there was a look in his eyes she’d seen too many times before.
    “I have,” she whispered. When Peter sighed, something sparked inside Megan. She needed him to listen to her, to understand. “It happens to me a lot, Peter.” She turned her back to the glass and leaned on it.
    Peter shrugged. “Why?”
    Why? He had to ask that? It didn’t take a psychiatrist to understand that if a child didn’t respond to her name when called, there might be an issue. There had to be some reason she didn’t respond. Unless…this was Emma’s way of holding on to a life no longer hers? Would she do that on purpose though? At five years of age? Megan wasn’t too sure.
    “Do you think something’s wrong with her hearing?”
    Megan ground her teeth before she shook her head. “No, Peter. I think her hearing is fine. I think that she doesn’t want to be Emma. I think that—”
    “She probably didn’t hear you,” Peter interrupted. His eyes were turned back down toward the flyers.
    Megan seethed inside. How could he discount so quickly what she’d just said?
    “She heard me when I called her Emmie.”
    The look on Peter’s face said it all: disbelief, anger, confusion. His gaze shot from one corner of the room to another before resting back on her. She caught the way his fingers turned white as he clutched the coffee mug. Good. Maybe now he understood. Maybe now he would listen to her.
    “You what?” His voice lowered about ten decibels, the anger she’d read on his face clear in his tone. No, he didn’t understand.
    “I wanted to see. I called her name a few times and didn’t get a response. So I called her Emmie.” Megan toyed with her coffee cup, turning it in circles. “That’s all it took, for her to hear her old name. It scared me.”
    Peter’s brows shot up. “Scared you? What do you think you did to her? How do you think she must have felt to realize you called her by that other name?” Peter stood, his chair scraping along the floor again as he pushed it back.
    “What is wrong with you? What will it take for you to be happy?”

CHAPTER FIVE
    A ugust 5
    I burned the bread again today. I never do that. It’s the second time this week. Such a waste.
    I laid Emmie down for her nap and fell asleep with her again. She doesn’t like to take many naps; sometimes I have to read her more stories than I prefer before she’ll settle down. Today I had to threaten to turn off her fairy lights if she didn’t fall asleep.
    Jack brought her home some balloons today. I made him use the tire pump we used to use for Mary’s bike. I swear, that man is so stubborn sometimes. What does it matter if he blows up the balloons with his lips or with a pump? She has this fascination with red balloons—says they look better in the sky. For a girl who prefers pink, yellow, and white, I would never have thought she’d want only red balloons. Good thing the bag had plenty of red ones; otherwise, knowing him, he’d have gone back into town to buy more.
    Jack commented that I’ve been more tired lately, so he made an appointment with Dr. Stewart. Meddlesome old fool, but he won’t listen to me. I’ve always been healthier than I should