She was only four years old.

Tom arrived forty minutes later.

He stood in the living room doorway, coat still on, and looked at the sleeping child on the couch.

He looked at Mia.

He looked at Ryan.

He did not look at Sandra.

"Tell me," he said.

Ryan told him.

All of it.

The vent, the bread, Mia's birthday, the bruising, Sandra's cousin Debra, the seven months.

He spoke quietly and without interruption.

Sandra sat in the chair and said nothing.

When Ryan finished, Tom was still for a moment.

Then he took off his coat and folded it over the back of the sofa.

"Has she eaten?" he asked, nodding toward Lily.

"Mia brought her crackers and some juice.

She drank the juice."

"Okay." Tom sat down.

He looked at Sandra for the first time.

"Sandra.

I need you to understand something before we go any further.

I'm not here as your family tonight.

I'm here as a lawyer.

Do you understand the difference?"

Sandra's chin lifted.

"You're Ryan's brother.

You're not exactly neutral."

"No," Tom agreed.

"I'm not.

But I'm the only attorney in this room, and what you've done carries criminal exposure.

So I'm going to ask you some questions, and I strongly suggest you answer them honestly, because the next person asking them may not be family."

"I didn't do anything crjminal."

Tom looked at her steadily.

"Unlawful confinement of a minor.

Failure to report child endangerment.

Obstruction of a child welfare investigation — because social services had an open case on this child, Sandra, which means the moment you took her and hid her, you interfered with a legal process." He paused.

"That's three, off the top of my head, without the medical records."

Sandra's face had gone pale again.

"I was protecting her."

"From what?"

"From the system.

From being bounced between foster homes.

From—"

"From being found," Ryan said quietly.

Sandra turned to look at him.

"That's what you were protecting her from," he said.

"Not the system.

You were protecting yourself from being found."

The room was very quiet.

Lily stirred on the couch.

Mia put a hand on her shoulder and she settled again.

Tom leaned forward.

"Sandra.

Where is Debra now?"

A pause.

"I don't know."

"When did you last speak to her?"

Another pause.

Longer this time.

"Sandra."

"August," she said.

"She called in August.

She wanted Lily back.

I told her Lily was fine, that she was being looked after.

I told her to get clean first."

"You told a mother you had her child hidden in a wall and to get clean first," Ryan said.

"I didn't tell her where Lily was."

Tom stood up.

He walked to the window and stood with his back to the room for a moment.

When he turned around, his expression had settled into something professional and careful.

"Here is what's going to happen tonight," he said.

"Lily is going to sleep here.

She is not going back behind that wall.

She is not going anywhere until morning." He looked at Sandra.

"You are not going to make any phone calls.

You are not going to contact Debra.

You are not going to contact your mother or anyone else.

Do you understand me?"

Sandra said nothing.

"Sandra.

Do you understand me?"

"Yes," she said.

The word came out flat and stripped of everything.

"In the morning, I'm going to make some calls.

There are ways to handle this that don't end with Lily in the system and don't end with you in a courtroom — but that window is narrow and it closes fast.

So tonight, everyone stays calm." He looked at Ryan.

"Can you set up a proper bed for her?"

"Already thinking about it," Ryan said.

Tom nodded.

He picked up his coat.

"Tom." Sandra's voice stopped him at the door.

It had changed — the hardness had cracked slightly, and something underneath was showing.

"Do you think she'll be okay?

Lily?"

Tom looked at the child sleeping on the couch.

At the matted hair and the thin wrists and the way she held Mia's hand even in sleep.

"I think that depends a lot," he said carefully, "on what the people in this room decide to do next."