“Almost finished.”
But Lily never came out looking refreshed.
She always looked worn out.
She wrapped herself tightly in her towel, avoided eye contact, and barely spoke before bedtime. One evening I reached for the towel to dry her hair, and she flinched so suddenly that my heart nearly stopped.
That was the moment I realized something wasn’t right.
The next day, while gathering laundry, I found a damp towel shoved behind the basket. It had a strange white, chalky residue on it and a faint, sweet smell I couldn’t recognize.
I stood there staring at it far longer than I should have.
That night, after another unusually long bath, I tucked Lily into bed. She hugged her stuffed bunny so tightly that her little knuckles turned white.
I gently brushed her curls away from her face.
“Sweetheart,” I asked softly, “what do you and Daddy do in the bathtub for so long?”
