After a few moments of walking in silence, Zarina leads us to a little bench under a tree. She finishes her cotton candy and disposes of the container before joining me. I tuck her into my side, content to hold her while she gives me more of her story.

“It’s not just my dad,” she whispers. “My mom left when I was eleven.” Her voice trembles like the rest of her. I get the feeling she’s never talked about this before. I’m damn proud to be the one to hold her secrets and carry her burdens. “We had a huge fight the night before,” Zarina continues. “I wanted to get...