She paused.

“That’s the most rehabilitated thing I’ve seen in twenty years.”

Trish came home from her double shift to police cars outside her building.

When she saw Riley’s face in the light, really saw it, she collapsed on the stairs.

“He told me she fell,” she kept saying. “I believed him. I was so tired. I believed him.”

I sat down next to my sister and held her for the first time in nine years.

Vince pleaded guilty in March. Four years.

I used everything I learned in that prison library to help Trish file for a protective order, and to help her get her money back.

Now I work at a legal aid office in Scranton, helping people who can’t afford a lawyer.

Riley comes by every Friday after school and does her homework at my desk.

She kept the dollar-store rabbit.

She says she’s too old for it.

It sits on her pillow every night.

THE END.