What we were going to tell the media about Mom’s case couldn’t have been further from my mind. I didn’t understand why we had to give them a daily update. “How is she doing?” I asked. Her case was important, but I wanted to know about her.

Marcos and Dad exchanged a look. Dad shifted in his seat.

“She’s scared to death,” Marcos said, taking a seat in the chair across from me. His big frame fit awkwardly underneath the David Hockney painting hanging on the wall. He leaned forward, his knees almost touching mine. “I know this must be difficult to understand, but when people are taken and treated poorly for a long period of time, their brains do weird things to keep them safe. Bad people can scare you quiet, and they can scare you quiet for a long time, even after help comes.”

I fought the urge to cry like I had done yesterday. “How badly did they hurt her?”

Dad placed his hand on my arm. “The details aren’t important.”

I pushed it off. “Yes, they are. You of all people should know that. Details are everything.”

He took a deep breath before nodding at Marcos, giving him permission to continue.

“It looks like she was systematically tortured over an extended period of time.” Marcos maintained direct eye contact with me as he spoke, unflinching.

“What do you mean by systematically tortured?” I asked.

“She’s been whipped with switches, and her body is covered in burns and other scars. It appears—”

Meredith interrupted him. “Please, stop. That’s enough,” she said.

It might be too much for her, but it was nothing compared to what Dad and I had been through. He’d had to view a dead corpse once to see if it was Mom. I leaned forward and tried to look nice while I said it, because I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. “Sorry, Meredith, but if you can’t handle it, then you’re going to have to leave the room, because I want to know everything that happened to my mom.”

KATE

THEN

My insides shook with nerves. It wasn’t like I hadn’t done big interviews before, but this was my first face-to-face interview postbaby—a step back into a part of my life I’d left behind after Abbi. I smoothed down the front of my skirt, grateful it was high waisted enough to cover the pooch I’d given up losing a long time ago. Maybe having to squeeze into something besides yoga pants would motivate me enough to lose the last nagging ten pounds. Once your child was five, it no longer qualified as pregnancy weight, did it?

What if I’d forgotten how to navigate in the professional world? But my confidence grew with each click of my new heels on the sidewalk. This was nothing. I’d done interviews in a prison before.

You got this, I reminded myself as I walked.

Love International’s complex loomed in front of me. Their headquarters were just past the edge of town, where the main road evolved into an old highway that was lined with a strange mix of houses and concrete buildings. They’d recently renovated an abandoned office building. They’d gone from meeting in parks and church basements to having a completed facility in only two months.