Her lip trembled as she struggled to speak, and then she whispered something that made everything inside me turn cold. She said, “Daddy says I’m not supposed to talk about bath games,” and those words echoed in my mind long after she stopped speaking.
I forced myself to stay calm because I knew panic would only make her retreat further into silence. I asked quietly, “What kind of games?” while trying to keep my voice steady and reassuring.
She shook her head and began crying harder, unable to continue explaining what she meant. Through her tears, she said, “He said you’d be mad at me,” and that sentence felt like something breaking deep inside my chest.
I pulled her into my arms and told her I would never be angry with her for anything she shared. Even then, she said nothing else, and the silence that followed felt heavier than any answer she could have given.
That night, I did not sleep at all because my mind refused to rest. I lay next to Scott, listening to his steady breathing while my body stayed tense with fear, confusion, and a desperate hope that I was wrong about everything.