A memory of a movement, a name from a box I no longer held, a feeling in my gut.

They would have smiled and explained me away in five minutes flat, the overwrought young mother imagining things, seeing plots in shadows, and then I would be gone, dismissed, and Raymond would be left alone in that room with no one who knew and no one to help him, and they would be more careful next time.

I understood that if I acted too soon, on too little, I would not save him.

I would doom him.