Vince stroked her back and kissed her forehead.

“What are you reading about?” Anne asked.

“Dissociation disorder. What were you reading about?” he asked. “I stuck my head in and saw you were asleep. Must not have been a thriller.”

“Children as victims and witnesses.”

“We’re some exciting couple,” he joked.

Anne found a smile. “Earlier I was reading about a princess who wanted to become a fairy.”

“Oh, I’ve read that one. A real page-turner,” he said. “How was your evening?”

“Good. We missed you.”

“Mmmmm ... good ... How’s Haley?”

“She asked when is her mommy coming.”

“What did you tell her?”

“The same thing I told her before—that her mommy was hurt very badly and can’t come for her,” Anne said. “I want to spare her that awful truth, but at the same time I hate that I’m lying to her. She’s going to continue to have this building expectation and excitement that Mommy is coming back. I feel almost cruel.”

“That’s a tough call,” Vince said. “You’re the expert on kids, not me, but I don’t think kids appreciate being lied to any more than we do.”

Anne looked up at him. “What about Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny?”

“That’s different. By the time they’re old enough to figure that out, they get it. You can’t wait until the age of reason to tell Haley her mother is dead.”

“I know. And I know that at Haley’s age, death is a pretty abstract concept. She isn’t liable to understand that death is final. It usually takes time for it to sink in and become real for the little ones. I suppose you could say the news is less traumatic for them in an immediate way. That’s a blessing. But she’s been through so much trauma already ...”

“Has she talked at all about what happened?”

“Has she named the killer?” Anne said. “No. Maybe she’ll get really lucky and never remember any of it.”

No sooner had she said it, a piercing scream came from the room across the hall.

Anne bolted.

Haley was sitting up in bed, screaming like she had been the first time Anne had seen her in the hospital. Caught in the grip of a private terror, unable to break free of it or even see past it.

“Haley!” Anne said, sitting on the bed, gently taking hold of the little girl by her fragile shoulders. “Haley, it’s me, Anne. You’re okay, sweetheart. You’re safe.”

“Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” Haley called, then again came the blood-curdling screams.

So much for my wish, Anne thought.

“Haley, you’re safe, honey,” Anne said and called herself a liar. She knew there was no such thing as being safe from the nightmares. Those would come again and again.