She was the neighbor who noticed, and the neighbor who cared, and the neighbor who, when the moment came, ran toward the trouble instead of pulling her curtains.

There should be a word for what she is.

The closest I have is: the reason my daughter is alive.

Arguing — Elena and Julian, raised voices coming through the walls at night, worse and worse as the weeks went on.

And other things that had unsettled her more, because they were quieter.

Maya had stopped playing in the yard, the little girl who used to be out there every afternoon.