“Lizie, that’s not quite true,” I said. I kept my voice the way I kept it during Sam’s worst nights, the years when she was small and afraid of things I could not see. “We care about you. But we can’t help if we don’t know what’s happening.”
She shook her head. Tears were building but not falling, like she had learned that crying used up energy she didn’t have.
“He says if people know, they’ll look at us differently. Like we’re begging.”
Dan crouched down beside us, bringing himself to her level.
“Is there anywhere else you could stay? Family? A friend?”
“We tried my aunt. She has four kids in a two-bedroom place. There wasn’t room.”
Sam sat down beside her. “You don’t have to keep this hidden from us. We’ll figure something out together.”
I nodded. “You’re not alone in this. Not anymore.”
