My cheeks must have been blotchy from tears when he let me in and through to the living room. I sat down on his sofa and tossed my bag onto the floor, crumpling over with my elbows on my knees as I tried to compose myself. He was right there beside me, kneeling on the floor, but he didn’t put his hands on me, just waited.

“I’m sorry,” I said again. “I just… I couldn’t stay there…”

“What happened? Did he hurt you?”

The tears kept coming, silent as I struggled for breath.

“He, um… no. He didn’t hit me or anything… he just…”

“Did he hurt your mother?”

“No....