My Granddaughter Called Me At 2 A.m. From An Intake Office

let out a broken sob. “I believed her, Dad. Every little story she told me about Emma being distant, being difficult.”

He looked up at me, his face a mess of shame and regret. “She was poisoning me against my own daughter.”

I didn’t yell. I didn’t say I told you so. I just put a hand on his shoulder.

“The poison is out now, son,” I said. “Now we start continue reading …