When the two things collide, the child’s safety comes first, always, and a grownup who cannot manage that, whatever the reason, has failed at the one non-negotiable duty adulthood carries.

I was sorry for Eleanor.

I am still sorry for Eleanor.

And I will never, as long as I live, accept her fear as a sufficient answer to the question of why my son was left knocking at a locked door in the cold.

“I believe that you’re afraid of him, Eleanor,” I said.

“I do.

But you were the adult in that house.

You were the grandmother.