But now my little girl was in a hospital bed, and the people who had hurt her shared my family name.
A nurse approached.
“Mr. Sinclair? Your daughter is asking for you.”
I put my phone away and returned to her room.
Maya’s eyes were half open.
“Daddy?”
“I’m right here.”
“Are you mad at me?”
The question struck harder than anything I had heard that morning.
“No, sweetheart. Never. You didn’t do anything wrong.”