He felt guilty about Dwight’s sons, who had also lived in a home where fear made the rules.

Some mornings he begged me not to go to work.

Other mornings he waved goodbye before I had even finished lacing my boots.

One Friday he woke up from a nightmare and wouldn’t tell me what it had been about.

I asked if he wanted some water or a little light on.

He asked if I could sit in the hallway until he fell asleep.

I set up a folding chair outside his door and sat there for almost an hour, listening to the rain on the roof and the soft rustle of his blankets.