Even a little?” I thought a while before I answered, because he deserved a real answer and not a comfortable one.

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” I said.

“Maybe some of the kind things felt real at the time.

But now we know he only did them to trick us.” He nodded and stirred.

“My therapist says bad people don’t always look like monsters on the outside.” “She’s right.” “And she says it wasn’t our fault we didn’t figure it out sooner.” My throat closed.

“She’s right about that too.” Then he looked up, his gray eyes steady and clear, and said, “I’m telling you that because I don’t think you actually believe it yet.” My eleven-year-old, once again, saw the truth ahead of me — and this time the truth he was pointing at was my own worth.