Her husband slapped her while their daughter was dying in the next room.

The police station smelled of stale drip coffee, damp woolen coats, and old paper files. Sarah sat in a vinyl chair, wrapped in a coarse navy blue blanket that a sympathetic deputy had placed over her shoulders. Officer Miller, a soft-spoken woman with silver-streaked hair and kind, steady eyes, set two paper cups on the small wooden desk. One held hot cocoa with tiny floating marshmallows for Lily; the other was black coffee for Sarah.

""The judge granted an emergency temporary restraining order,"" Officer Miller said softly, taking a seat across from them. ""Marcus won't be posted bail tonight, Sarah. You are safe to go to a shelter, or anywhere else you feel secure.""

Sarah clasped the warm cup, her fingers shaking against the cardboard sleeve. ""We can't go back to the house,"" she said, her voice raspy. ""He knows where every key is hidden. He knows how I think.""

""Then you start fresh,"" Miller replied firmly, placing a reassuring hand over Sarah's trembling knuckles. ""It won't be easy, but the hardest step was the one you took today when you called us. You chose life.""