My eight-year-old son was be@ten nearly to death in his grandfather’s driveway while three grown men laughed and pinned him down.

carefully. “I’m here, buddy. I’ve got you.”

His fingers trembled around mine. Tears rose in his eyes.

“I tried to run,” he whispered.

My throat tightened. “You don’t have to talk right now.”

But frightened children always talk. Silence scares them more than words ever could.

“Grandpa got mad,” Jake said, his voice unsteady. “He said you think you’re too continue reading …