She pinched her finger in the door.
As we walk into our building, I check the mail while Baby S runs back and forth through the automatic doors (because I'm a neglegant free-range parent). The doors slid close before she could move her two little fingers out of the way. There were tears, inconsolable, huge rolling broken faced tears. And they wouldn't stop. So I thought quickly. Abandoned dinner prep plans, and suggested a walk to the park down the street.
One or two shuddering breaths, a wipe of the sleve across her face, and she was fine.