I stood at the bathroom door, torn between knocking the door down to get to Hannah or just letting her have her space.
"Hannah, can I come in please?" I begged her. "I just want to talk to you and make sure you're OK."
"I'm fine," Hannah said. Obviously a lie, but at least she was talking to me. I propped my forearm on the doorframe and rested my forehead on it, closing my eyes. Had I known that the news of getting the FBI involved would hurt Hannah, I wouldn't have mentioned it.
I sighed heavily. "I didn't mean to upset you, Hannah," I said through the door.
"You should just stay out of it," Hannah said from the other side of the bathroom door. "I don't want people that we love getting hurt." She was right, but I couldn't let it go. I couldn't let people like Bernard Sullivan, Court Macalester, and Jared Fitzgerald get away with their disgusting fetishes and illegal human trafficking.
