“It took every trainer in here to get him into a stall. Just totally green. He wasn’t safe to be around. And Sarah, she was six, maybe. You couldn’t keep her out of the stables, no matter how hard you tried. She never listened.” Abby sighs. “One night, back when we had our first property out in Hampshire County, we couldn’t find her anywhere. My mom was a mess. My dad almost called the police. The only other time I’ve seen them upset like that was when…”

I look back at Midnight as Abby trails off.

“They found her with him hours later. Just mounting him totally bareback, no saddle, no rein. She kind of just slumped against him and held on, and must’ve fallen asleep. And he just stood there.” Abby smiles sadly. “They were kind of kindred spirits. Sarah, she grew up from that point to be just like the horse—totally untamed. She used to say no one understood her but him.”

I bite my lip, nearly crying. Because I know that feeling. And how many other children in this country are feeling the same way—lost, misunderstood, and unguided? How many children were sent away and either never returned or returned shells of who they once were?

“I understood Sarah,” I whisper. Nervous, I shuffle my feet against the pavers. “I was at Horizons with her. She… she was my friend.”

She was the only one there who treated me like a person.

Abby leans back but takes two steps closer to me. “Y-you were there? When she died?”

It’s still a punch to the gut. “I was there when she was sick.”

Abby’s eyes widen.

“I was there with her until she wasn’t.” I shake my head, trying to keep the sob in. “I’m so sorry.”

My feet start moving, but Abby reaches out, pulling on my arm. “You knew she was sick?”

“She was throwing up a lot.” My voice shakes as hard as my hand Abby now holds in her own. “I tried to get them to help her from the beginning. I swear I tried. I’m so sorry.”

I burst into tears and sink down, burying my head in my knees. For a few minutes, I stay in that position on my own.

Abby sinks with me. “You were a kid.”

I was a kid when I went in. We all were, despite our different ages. But our innocence and naivety about the world were taken on day one.

And I said nothing when I could have. No matter where I went, I couldn’t outrun my past. I just carried it like a burden instead of realizing that if I told someone what life was like there, maybe things would be different. Maybe Abby and her parents would’ve been awarded justice.

Maybe it would’ve ended.