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.

Her face changed.

Only slightly.

Then she whispered.

“If I tell you, you might think I’m making it up.”

“I won’t decide anything before I hear you.”

She swallowed.

“It’s better if you see it.”

I stared at her.

Something about the sentence felt rehearsed.

Not because she was lying.

Because she had probably imagined saying it many times.

I asked.

“Does your teacher know you’re asking me?”

“No.”

“Does your family?”

“No.”

I paused.

Normally, I would not simply walk away from a school with a child without notifying staff.

So I told the teacher supervising dismissal that Brenna had asked to speak with me.

Mrs. Nolan looked surprised.

“Is everything okay?”

Brenna immediately stiffened.

I said.

“I’m going to walk her home and make sure everything’s fine.”

Mrs. Nolan looked at Brenna.