She didn’t look at me. She just kept her eyes on the paper, her little fingers twisting the hem of her shirt.

“Mr. Miller said it was our secret house,” she whispered.

My chest felt so tight I could barely get the air in, but I just nodded and kept my hands flat on the table so she wouldn’t see them shaking.

“What kind of secrets, bug?” I asked.

She looked up then, her big brown eyes swimming with tears. “He said you were very sick.

He said your heart was like an old clock, and if I stressed you out, it would just stop ticking.”

I had to close my eyes for a second. The absolute cruelty of it. He was using her love for me, her fear of being left alone again after losing her mom, to keep her quiet.

“He told me if I drew the windowless room, the noise wouldn’t get out,” she said, her voice cracking. “He said if I was perfectly quiet, you would stay alive.”

I reached across the table and pulled her little hands into mine. They were so cold.

“Lily, look at me,” I said.

She looked up, a tear finally spilling over her cheek.

“I am as healthy as a horse,” I told her, and I made sure to say it loud and clear. “My heart is going to keep ticking for a long, long time. You hear me?”

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“I’m positive,” I said. “And you don’t ever have to be quiet again.”

She didn’t say anything for a long minute. She just stared at me, trying to figure out if she could believe it. Then she reached over, grabbed a bright yellow crayon, and drew a big, messy circle right on top of that black box.

“That’s the sun,” she said.

I just held her close and let her cry into my shoulder until the front of my shirt was damp.

It’s been three months since that night. Mr. Miller is facing charges now, and I’ve been to every single court date, sitting right there in the front row so he has to look at me.

Lily is starting to laugh again, the real kind that comes from her belly. But sometimes, when the house gets too quiet, I still catch her looking at my chest, just listening for the tick.