“Garrett, how do you know my daughter?” I whispered, my voice barely working. He bent down slowly and picked up the box with trembling hands, but he would not meet my eyes. “I am so sorry,” he said. “I cannot do this tonight. I cannot explain yet.” My daughter pressed herself against my leg and asked in a tiny voice whether he did not like her, and the question cut straight through me.

I followed him onto the porch, angry and scared, while the pie cooled on the counter. Then headlights swept across the yard. A black sedan stopped at the curb, and two people in dark jackets stepped out, one holding up a badge. Garrett’s face went even paler. “Please,” he whispered, “do not let her out of your sight.” Then one of the agents called out my ex-husband’s full name, and my stomach dropped.