Your knees hurt, and your back is screaming, and you feel like you've been kneeling on the cold bedroom floor forever. It hasn't actually been that long, but it's been a long while, and still the little boy in the corner won't come to where you are. You can't go to him, even though you want to, because the dog that's between you is huge, and he's snarling and baring his teeth. You want to cry, but you don't. You soothe instead, French and it's more about the tone than the words themselves.
You're about to give up, about to call his father and have him call off the dog for the thousandth time, but in that last moment the little boy slides his fingers from his mouth with a pop, and you think you might cry in relief. It's something, even if it's not much at all, but it gives you the strength to stay there and not go for the phone.
It'll take time, you remind yourself, but all good things do.