Colt!” Madison yells, her eyes lighting up when she sees me. Her chubby arms slide through the bars of the oversized crib they placed her in and wrap themselves around my leg. “Colt, don’t go. Where’s Mommy? Who’s that?” She points a pudgy finger at Isabella.

I’m not sure what question to answer first. Explaining any of this to a two-year-old is going to be a task. Instead, I reach over the large crib rail and pick her up, holding her close. For a toddler, she can give one hell of a bear hug. Her arms squeeze so tight around my neck, she’s making it difficult to swallow this lump in my throat.

“Madison has been under observation for the past six hours. While there’s been no physical damage done, it’s too preemptive to assess whether or not there will be any long-term emotional consequences,” the social worker informs me.

With long chestnut hair and a light sprinkling of freckles on her nose, her wide blue eyes give her youthful appearance that makes me wonder how much schooling is required for social work these days. It’s undeniable that she cares, though. The concern on her face is genuine. Anyone can see that.

I glance at Isabella, who is keeping herself at a safe distance from this whole scene. Standing near the door with her arms crossed, I feel like she should go grab a lab coat and a clipboard so she at least has a reason to be observing us from the sidelines.

I guess I can’t blame her. She hasn’t really had a chance to process any of this. I mean, she only learned of Madison’s existence a few hours ago. What do you expect?

If Madison had any interest in Isabella or where her mother is, she seems to have lost it now. Safe in my arms, she’s starting to relax and babble like the happy girl I’m used to.

“Colt, I went to the beach.”

My heart aches at her announcement. She has no idea in her little bubble that I know she went to the beach, that half the Internet knows she went to the beach, and after tonight’s nightly news who knows how many thousands more will know about her eventful day.

“Did you, honey? Was it fun?” I cringe at my own question. I hope that by asking her about it I won’t traumatize her in some way. I don’t want to bring up flashbacks of what must’ve been the most terrifying and confusing day of her life.

“Yeah, I went swimming!” Gleefully, her eyes light up with a familiar sparkle. “And I got to ride on a tractor,” she happily announces.

“A tractor?” I look up at the social worker for clarification.

“She means the four-wheeler the beach security picked her up with.” She smiles.

I nod at her, distractedly watching Madison. You’d never know from her demeanor that she’s had such a life-changing day.

“I’m so happy to see you, honey. I missed you,” I tell her truthfully, looking into her giant brown eyes.

“I miss you too, Colt.” She gives me a big wet kiss on the cheek. “Can we go home now? I want to play. You play dolls?” She looks at Isabella and my eyes follow to see her reaction.

Isabella startles, realizing Madison said something to her, like she’s being pulled out of a daydream. Maybe this is all too much for her.

“With your dolls?” she answers slowly, like she isn’t quite sure what the words mean. “Yeah, sure. I’d love to play with your dolls.” Isabella smiles weakly.

“All right, Madison”—the social worker looks directly at the squirming two-year-old in my arms—“you get to go home and play soon. But first I need to talk to Colt a bit more, okay?” Unlike Isabella, her smile looks genuine. You can see it in the crinkled corners of her eyes.

Madison nods at her solemnly.

“I want to stay with Colt.” She clings against me like Saran wrap. “I stay with Colt!”

“That won’t be a problem. You can stay together.” She smiles again and it calms Madison.

I have to admit her smile also does wonders for my own frayed nerves. She’s good at what she does. I’ll give her that.

I look over at Isabella, who seems to be immune to the calming reassurance of the social worker. Her eyebrows are still knit together. She’s gone back into whatever world she’d escaped from a moment ago, only standing in this room with us in body, not spirit.

One crisis at a time. Whatever is going on with Isabella, I’ll have to deal with it later.

“Certainly, Miss Kingsley. However long it takes, I’m just happy to see she’s safe.” One look into Madison’s big brown eyes and angelic smile melts away my concerns about what is going through Isabella’s mind.

One crisis at a time.