Victoria went through the stack of documents slowly and thoroughly, making notes, saying little.

And then, at a certain point, she stopped writing, and set down her pen, and looked up at my mother with a grave and gentle expression.

“Brenda,” she said.

“I need you to answer me honestly, and I want you to know there is no wrong answer.

Has Gavin ever threatened your physical safety?

Has he ever made you feel unsafe in your own home?” My mother was quiet for a long moment.

And then, haltingly, she began to tell us things she had never told me, things she had carried entirely alone.