I had called expecting an ally who would be as angry as I was.

Instead, I got a professional who would not let my anger choose her verbs.

It was exactly what I needed.

By nine that evening, nothing looked like a trap being sprung.

There was no crowd of federal agents waiting outside the intensive care unit.

No broadcast lights in the corridor.

No thick folder proving ten years of crime after two hours of work.

There were preserved messages, a referral, a reporter asking careful questions, and a mother sitting on a plastic chair with a sandwich she could not finish.