“I thought justice would feel louder,” I said.

“Sometimes it feels like paperwork and being able to go home safely.”

I considered that.

The papers wouldn’t turn Daniel back into the eight-year-old with the bicycle.

They couldn’t make Sloan regret her cruelty.

But they acknowledged that something had happened and that it wasn’t my fault for asking someone not to smoke near me.

I held my coffee mug with both hands.

“Do you ever think about the night you showed up at my door?” I asked Marcus.