When a Child Stops Asking

That night the illusion that this was only a paperwork fight ended.

I was at my desk near eleven, drafting a follow-up to the CPS investigator, when the front window shattered inward.

I dropped to the floor and covered my head.

Cold wind poured through the broken frame.

When I made myself look up, there was a chunk of concrete on the rug, a piece of notebook paper taped around it.

Block marker letters: KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT. The police came twenty minutes later — polite, tired, and, in the end, not much help.