A quiet seven-year-old girl approached me after school and asked if I would walk her home. She told me she couldn’t explain what was happening unless I witnessed it for myself.

I turned.

“Yes?”

She glanced around before continuing.

“Would you walk home with me?”

I smiled.

“Did you lose whoever usually picks you up?”

She shook her head.

“No.”

“Is someone bothering you?”

Another shake.

Then she lowered her voice.

“I need to show you something.”

“What?”

“I can’t tell you here.”

I crouched.

Children usually relax when adults come down to their eye level.

Brenna did not.

She kept looking past me.

Toward the neighborhood.

I asked.

“Is somebody hurting you?”

“No.”

“Another child?”

“No.”

“Someone at home?”