Hannah Moore knew real life. The daily fight to build an existence on her own terms sustained Hannah and held at bay the grief of being used as a plaything first by her father and then by a succession of boys and men. As far as Hannah knew, this world offers no handouts. Her struggle to find work that wouldn’t be affected by a previous stint in prison began to seem an impossible dream. At the same time a nearby church was bitterly divided by a proposal to provide practical assistance and shelter to homeless women. The Touch doesn’t sugar-coat the attitudes of those opposed to the project or the difficulties faced during the process of establishing and administering the shelter. Hannah’s fighting spirit wouldn’t entertain the idea of seeking help at such a place, but after losing hope and trying to finish herself off with a concoction of pills and vodka, Hannah is referred by social services to the church’s shelter.