My husband pushed me down the stairs, and as I lay shattered at the bottom, my mother-in-law called my father and said, “Come get your worthless daughter and take her back.” Dad gave her only one warning: “If she has so much as a scratch, your family will answer for it.” They laughed at him because they had absolutely no idea who my father truly was.

“Lily,” I said again.

“That’s all I can think about.”

Denise had already contacted the child welfare intake line to report the allegations and my concern about Lily’s immediate circumstances.

The agency would decide what response was appropriate.

Gabriel had also sought an expedited family-court hearing, but no judge had ruled yet.

There was no instant rescue, no dramatic order delivered by my father’s old colleagues.

There was paperwork and uncertainty and people trying to do their jobs.