“I was gone for five minutes! What happened here?”

My younger siblings, Valentina and Betté, sat by the sides of Daddy, who was lying on the floor.

“Look,” Daddy tried to talk in a calm voice, but I could see the tears in his eyes, “I’m fine. I just tripped.”

My eyes gazed to his ankle, which Valentina was already holding ice on. His bone had popped out of place, and it was starting to bruise.

“Quick!” A tug on my shirt and the voice of four-year-old Betté snapped me out of my daydream. “The numbers for 911? Tell me!”

“No, no, no, no!” Daddy whimpered, “Do NOT let him call 911. Don’t call them yet! Just.. you guys get your mom on the phone.”