Sex trafficking probably wouldn’t top anyone’s list of appropriate mealtime conversation topics, but a couple weeks ago I found myself discussing just that with a police officer over sandwiches.
On my laptop screen is the grainy image of a child’s polka-dotted pajamas, marred with a blood stain. The seven-year-old Cambodian girl that wore those pajamas, was a victim of sex trafficking. The shirt and pants, discovered in a brothel raid, are laid flat on the floor, like the chalk outline of a crime scene. A body was here, and in that body a soul, but the image is a hollow shell next to her reality.