My hand tightened on the edge of the chair.

The officer asked whether anyone had told her not to tell me when she was scared.

“Daddy.”

“What did he say?”

“He said adults always believe adults.”

I looked at my daughter and understood how many ordinary silences I had misread.

She hadn’t been calm at family dinners because everything was fine.

At least some of that quiet had been fear about what would happen if she spoke.