“Sweetheart,” I said gently, “you can tell me anything. I promise you’re not in trouble.”
She looked at me, then glanced toward the hallway, then back at me. Her small fingers twisted the hem of her pajama shirt.
“Grandma made us play the quiet game,” she whispered.
My stomach tightened. “What’s the quiet game?”
“If I told you anything, Mommy would be mad forever.”
The words hit me like ice water. I kept my voice steady even though my chest felt like it was burning.
“Camila, listen to me. No game is ever allowed to make you scared to tell Daddy the truth. Okay?”
Her eyes filled with tears. In little broken pieces, the story started coming out.
Grandma didn’t keep her at the lake house the whole time. They drove to “another house” a lot. Mommy was there sometimes. So was “the tall man.” Sometimes a little girl in a yellow dress was there too. Sofia had to stay upstairs in a bedroom and play quietly. If she asked questions, Grandma would say “not now.” If she tried to come downstairs, Grandma would tell her to be a good girl for Mommy.
Once she heard the tall man call Mommy “baby.” Once she heard Mommy laugh in a way she never laughed at home.