“Grandma,” she whispered, and her voice was pure terror.

“Mommy’s screaming.”

I turned to her.

“She says he’s lying.” Veronica’s breath came in ragged pulls.

“She says he’s going to burn the proof.

She says you have to look — you have to look under her dress.”

Time seemed to stop.

The chapel went on around us, hushed, the pastor’s voice rolling gently over the pews, and I sat frozen with my granddaughter’s hand crushing mine.