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I swallow. “It doesn't.”

She settles against me again, her hand resting over my heart. “What happened that night?”

I close my eyes. The memory is still there. Not as sharp as it used to be. But close enough. “He hit her.”

Laney's breath catches. “Because of the cake?”

“Because of the money. Because he was drunk. Because he was a mean son of a bitch who liked having someone smaller to take it out on.” My jaw tightens. “I hid in my room.”

She doesn't say anything.

“I could hear everything. And I just sat there.”

“Bishop.”

“I didn't do a fucking thing.”

She pushes herself up on one elbow.

“Hayes, you were six.”

“I know.”

“What could you have done?”

I look away. That's the thing. I've asked myself that question a thousand times. And I've never come up with an answer that makes me feel any better. “I don't know.”

She reaches for my face. “Look at me.”

I do.

“You were a little boy.”

I swallow. “Yeah.”

“You weren't supposed to protect your mom. She was supposed to be able to protect you.”

Something tightens behind my ribs.

I don't answer.

Because I don't know how.

She brushes her thumb along my cheek. “I'm sorry that happened to you.”

I nod once.

For a while, neither of us speaks.

Then she asks, “Is that why you changed your name?”

I look down at her. “Part of it.”

She waits.

“My grandfather was the only man in my life who ever made me feel like I was worth a damn. When I was old enough, I wanted his name.”

“Bishop.”