When we got home that afternoon, Hannah changed out of the blue bridesmaid dress into sweatpants and one of my old Army T-shirts.

Samantha stayed while I made the necessary calls — the venue, the coordinator, my attorney, the deposits, the contracts.

The practical work delayed my own collapse until Hannah finally fell asleep on the living-room sofa.

Samantha handed me a cup of black coffee and sat across from me.

“How long,” she asked quietly, “do you think Pamela was treating Hannah like that, when you weren’t around?”

The full answer came out over the following week, and each piece of it was worse than the last.