Connor saw me.

“Well,” he said, too loudly. “Look who it is.”

The hallway listened. That’s what public cruelty wants. An audience.

“Hello, Connor.”

My calm seemed to irritate him. It always had. He preferred tears, because tears could be described later as hysteria. He preferred anger, because anger could be edited into blame.

He preferred silence, because silence let him narrate both sides. Calm gave him nothing to hold.