Lily, who at seven has an unerring instinct for the temperature of a room, felt the silence settle over the three adults above her and went still.

She looked up at Mike, considered him for about half a second, and dismissed him with the total indifference only a small child can manage.

And then her eyes moved to Tiffany, and stopped, and held.

“Oh my God,” Tiffany whispered.

It barely made it out of her throat.

I straightened, and I rested one hand on Lily’s small, warm shoulder, and I felt the old fear try to rise in me and I did not let it, because I had promised myself a long time ago that this woman would never make me afraid again.

Mike’s head swung between me and the child, his frown deepening.