Thora’s POV
By the third day, the phone felt like it had grown into my hand.
Every call started the same — polite, hopeful, rehearsed. By the end of each one, my heart felt like a stone.
Some people said yes without hesitation, voices warm, promising they’d speak truth if asked. Those calls gave me a moment of air.
Others… hesitated. Voices lowered, excuses piling up. “It’s not a good time.” “I support you, Thora, but…” “I can’t afford trouble.”
And every time I hung up, my list looked smaller, weaker.
I would sit at the kitchen table, the paper curling where my pen had rested. The list was an effort — not just names but reasons they mattered: dates, small details, the kind of quotidian evidence that becomes convincing under oath. I wrote Mrs. Alvarez because she had led the daycare
