“Everything You Think You Know”
The first time I let her into my home, I told myself it wasn’t forgiveness.
It was something uglier than that.
Pity, maybe. Or exhaustion. Or the slow corrosion of a man who had spent too long living inside a question with no answer.
My daughter, Lila, had been gone for ten years.
And the town had already decided who was responsible.
They called her the girl who knew. The girl who saw. The girl who didn’t speak when she should have.
Her name was Mara Ellison.
