“It is my testimony that instead of children and teenagers receiving help at therapeutic schools like the one I went to, employees often punish mental health matters and behavioral issues instead of treating them. Therapy is often supplemented with atrocious methods of physical, emotional, and sexual abuse. More often, these children—and I include myself—are worse off than the day they were admitted.”

I hit pause. “Are you better now?”

“You can’t tell?” she jokes. “I mean, better is relative. I have horrible days and really great ones. I find work helps me have better ones than worse. But that wasn’t always the case. The wrongful death suit for Sarah Griffen was very difficult. But it was the most important thing I’ve ever done. In some ways, more important than testifying in front of Congress.”

“Because Horizons closed shortly after?” I ask.

Parker shakes her head. “Because Sarah and her family deserved that win. And look, one facility closed. More have opened. There still is work to do.”

The work Parker talks about her non-traditional lobbying work which she manages through a Non-Profit she began called Our Hope, which offers support to victims of the troubled teen industry.

“I spend a lot of time in DC now. I never thought I’d be a Montgomery in politics.”

“You’re not,” Fitz says, coming into the kitchen with Clara tucked under his arm. He goes to the sink, holding her so she can wash her hands. “You’re a Rhodes.”

The two share a sweet, gentle smile.

Parker quarters grapes, adding them to the plate with her daughter’s sandwich. “It took me almost a year after the election to find a therapist I was willing to trust. That’s what I mean by being worse off. If I had someone like her when I was struggling with a lot of life’s issues in an unhealthy way as a kid, all of this could be avoided.”

I ask if she’s still in therapy.

“God, yes.” She takes Clara from Fitz so he can wash up properly. “I have a lot to work to do on myself to be the best person for her. I want her to be proud of me. Therapy and riding my horse Bernard, those things really help me manage my struggles.”

She sits Clara down at a small white table and brings her the plate. I ask what she means by that. Parker tips her head to the side, motioning me to follow her to the living room. As I leave, Fitz takes a seat—or as much as he can in the small chair—with his daughter at the table that comes up to his shins.

“What you do is very noble.”