“What would you do? If one of these days, this little girl looked up at you and she said, ‘Daddy? My boyfriend hit me.’ What would you say to her, Ryle?” He pulls Emerson to his chest and buries his face against the top of her blanket. “Stop, Lily,” he begs. I push myself up straighter on the bed. I place my hand on Emerson’s back and try to get Ryle to look me in the eyes. “What if she came to you and said, ‘Daddy? My husband pushed me down the stairs. He said it was an accident. What should I do?’ ” His shoulders begin to shake, and for the first time since the day I met him, he has tears.
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