A little after midnight, two police officers knocked on my door and asked to speak to my 15-year-old daughter, Lily.

dramatic exit.

Just fluorescent lights, paper, and the sound of a family structure collapsing under its own weight.

Outside, Lily walked beside me with her shoulders lower than they had been in three days.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “Just tired.”

“Me too.”

We went home.

The legal part did not end immediately. It never does.

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