I only looked away for a moment.

That one phrase hanuts a parent when something tragic happens to their child. It echoes in the mind like an accusation. Or a curse.

“I only turned my back for a second, but somehow he managed to reach the handle of the frying pan…”

“I just went inside to answer the phone. I thought the gate to the pool was locked…”

It’s a cry for understanding, a challenge to the universe. I hear the guilt, the recrimination, and I understand: If only I had been paying attention…

He wouldn’t have burned.

She wouldn’t have drowned.

I didn’t look away.

We believe that vigilance can prevent tragedy, that if we pay attention, we will be strong enough, wise enough, fortunate enough to counter fate.

“If I had been watching…”

It’s a lie.

It’s a trick that the universe plays, a way of increasing the guilt and despair while seeming to explain it away.

I didn’t look away. I wish I had.

Sometimes we can only watch, mute witnesses as our lives change in a moment, in a heartbeat, in the time it takes a three-year-old girl to take a single step from our side.

I let go of her hand.

I didn’t look away.

And my baby is gone.