“Chris,” she said quietly.

“How long do you think Brenda was treating Hannah like that, when you were away on duty?” I did not have the full answer that night, and I told her so.

It came out slowly, over the following weeks, in pieces, the way the truth does when a child has been taught to keep it hidden.

I learned, in those weeks, to be patient in a way I had never had to be, because you cannot pull the whole truth out of a frightened child all at once, and trying to only teaches her that telling you is overwhelming.

It came in fragments, over dinners and car rides and quiet moments before bed, a piece here, a piece there, whenever Hannah felt safe enough to let another piece out.