Kitchen floor gave me away. I didn't clean up after myself yesterday as well as I should have. I left muddy footprints on the porch stairs and in the kitchen, quite obvious in the light of day.
I'm fine, but that doesn't matter to Celia. She cried anyway, and got red in the face, and demanded to know what happened, and wouldn't stop asking.
Celia has always given in to fear. It's why we've never gotten along, not really.
I fell, and I'm fine, and no, I would not let her check me for bruises or marks or broken bones.