I pulled the car onto the shoulder of the road, because I did not trust myself to drive for the next moment.

I muted the phone.

And I turned around to look at my daughter, at her frightened little face, and I made my voice as gentle as I have ever made it.

“What prize, sweetheart?”

Chapter 3 — The Game

What Fiona told me then, in her small trembling voice, I am not going to repeat in detail, because the details belong to my daughter and to the therapist who later helped her carry them, and because no one reading this needs them.

It is enough to say this much: her father had told her they were playing a game.