She was sitting on the bottom step when I came out of the room. Small. Bare feet. Teddy under one arm. I hadn't known she was there ' hadn't heard a sound. Our eyes met and something in her face told me she understood far more than any child should. I remember thinking how quiet she was. How obedient. I crouched and put my finger to my lips. She nodded once. Not fear ' understanding. Years passed. She grew up. We never spoke of that night. But every time she looks at me now, as an adult, I see the child still standing on that step, holding a secret heavy enough to break a life in two.