Saturday morning came and went. I busied myself with errands, enjoying the rare quiet of having the house to myself. Around 2:00 in the afternoon, my phone rang. Emma’s voice came through, shaky and small.

“Mommy, can you come get me?”

My stomach dropped. “What’s wrong, sweetie? Are you feeling sick?”

“My hands really hurt,” her voice cracked. “They went to get ice cream without me.”

Before I could respond, Charlotte’s voice cut in, sharp and impatient. “She’s fine, just helping out a little. Give me the phone.”

“Charlotte, what’s going on?” I kept my tone measured, but my pulse had already started racing.

“Honestly, you’re being dramatic. The girls needed to run some errands, and she volunteered to help tidy up. It’s good for kids to learn responsibility.” She said it like she was doing me a favor, like she had discovered some parenting wisdom I’d somehow missed.