The color drained from her face.
She lowered her eyes, and tears immediately filled them.
I squeezed her tiny hand.
“You can tell Mommy anything.”
Her voice was barely louder than a whisper.
“Daddy says the bathroom games are a secret.”
Every muscle in my body froze.
“What kind of games?” I asked as calmly as I could.
She burst into tears.
“He said you’d be mad at me if I told you.”
I pulled her into my arms.
“Oh, baby,” I whispered. “I could never be mad at you. Never.”
She cried against my shoulder but refused to say another word.
That night I lay awake beside Michael, listening to his steady breathing while my thoughts spiraled out of control. I wanted desperately to believe there was an innocent explanation. I wanted to believe I was letting fear get the better of me.
But by morning, hope wasn’t enough anymore.
