“And remembering good moments doesn’t change the harm.”

She nodded slowly.

We sat together while the hospital went about its ordinary morning, the cart wheels rattling and the nurses calling one another from room to room.

That afternoon a journalist left a message on my phone.

Another sent an email asking whether I wanted to expose the Harringtons’ influence in the community.

I deleted neither message, but I passed both to Patricia and declined interviews.

Chloe’s story was not mine to sell to the public, however angry I felt.