“But I knew, Shan. I knew something was wrong in your house,” I confessed, repeating a conversation we’d had a couple of times this summer. “I didn’t do anything about it, and the guilt is still eating me.” “Claire, you have nothing to feel guilty about. You didn’t know. Not really. I never told you anything. You had a feeling. And you did everything you could have done for me. Trust me, I know.” Pushing up onto her knees, Shannon grabbed a hair tie off her wrist and pulled her hair into a makeshift bun. “I’m still here. I made it. He didn’t beat me.” Smiling softly, she gestured to herself
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