I whispered to her the whole time, the same words, over and over, until her breathing slowed and her chest stopped heaving and her small fists finally unclenched from my sweater.

“You are in Oregon, Fiona,” I whispered into her hair, my own tears falling into it.

“You are in your own bedroom.

The door is unlocked — see, it’s open, the light is coming in.

Mommy is right here.

Mommy is not going anywhere.

And no one, ever again, is going to make you stay in the dark.”

I said it until she believed it.