Then she looked down at the floor.

That small movement brought back all the dinners at her father’s house when I had asked whether she was comfortable with his remarks and she had told me I was too sensitive.

I wondered how many times I had accepted silence as peace because I did not want to fight in front of Maya.

And I wondered how many times Maya had watched adults make that same choice.

Isabelle suddenly whispered, “Don’t.” Her voice was different now.