There was no hiding anything from Grace. Between the scrapes and bruises and my general mood once the adrenaline wore off, the perceptive little girl knew something was wrong. I chose to give her the tame version of the story. Leaving out names and choosing instead to tell her how someone who wanted to hurt me tried to run me over with a horse and how her daddy protected me and chased them off.
It turned into the important lesson about how sometimes people try to hurt others, and we need to be careful. I ended it by assuring her that she was safe and that I, her dad, and everyone at the house would take care of her.
Grace took it all in bravely, and then asked, “Are you okay? Do your cuts still hurt?” “No.” I shook my head. “I’m alright.”
That was a lie. My knees still stung, my arm
