She studied my face, maybe expecting anger or fear, but she found neither.

Rage had burned past fire and become ice.

Thirty minutes later, a detective arrived.

Before the detective entered, a hospital social worker explained the process to me.

Her name was Denise Carter.

She spoke slowly, as though offering each sentence a place to land.

A trained specialist would interview Maya when her doctors thought she was ready.

The staff would document injuries.