Despite the nightmares that tormented her, Matilda never spoke about what went on in that little red house. So many years had passed that Therese herself wondered what had really transpired when she found Tim standing over her silent and bloodied child. She made sure that Tim was a topic never to be discussed, deciding quickly that she could provide just as adequately as any father could, reminding herself that she had turned out just fine without one. She told herself that it was her job to protect her children and that she could not risk another encounter. She grabbed a pad of paper and began scribbling down her plans when the phone rang, shaking pictures of escape out of her head.

“Therese?”

The voice was familiar, but it sounded like it was coming from somewhere very far away.

“I am calling because today is her birthday,” Leah said.

Therese didn’t respond, mostly because the blood pounding so loudly in her ears made it so she could barely hear.

“How is she?”

Therese thought about Jeeps. “She’s beautiful.”

There was silence on the other end, but Therese could hear Leah breathing. Slow, steady breaths designed to contain something she wasn’t ready to let go.

“He started doing it to me you know. When I turned nine.”

“I know.”

“How is Tim?”

Therese coughed, the morning’s coffee rising in her throat. “Gone.”

“I’m ready now.”

Therese shook her head, wishing Leah could see her through the phone.

“Therese, I want her back. Please. I want to protect her. I need to.”

Whatever Therese had managed to keep at bay all those years suddenly came crashing down around her, and she felt her lungs flood. She coughed again, gagging on her insides, willing herself not to break in half. She thought about fighting, about calling a lawyer, but she knew she could never win.

“Therese, I will never forget what you did for me. How you saved me. How you saved her. Please, can I have her back?”

Because it wasn’t a real question, there was no need for an answer. She wanted to shout, to cry, to hang up the phone and pretend none of this had happened, but then the swirling around her head stopped long enough for her to notice that Matilda had just walked into the room. She looked up at her for a second and smiled. Then she watched as her daughter picked up the newspaper and folded over the obituary section so she could read the comics.

“Okay,” Therese whispered.