game?” I asked.
Emily thought for a moment.
“When Grandpa gives me a bath, he tells me to close my eyes.”
The knife in my hand stopped. I turned toward her.
“Why?”
She shrugged.
“So we can play.”
Okay?”
She looked at me, confused.
“But Grandpa doesn’t do anything bad.”
That sentence should have reassured me. It didn’t. That night, I barely slept.
My father had always been the person I trusted most. Whenever my husband had to work late, Dad came over to help me.
Whenever Emily was sick, he could sit beside her for hours.
I had never seen anything that made me suspicious of him. But now my mind had taken one sentence and built a hundred
frightening possibilities around it.
The next morning, I started remembering little things that had never seemed important before. A few weeks earlier, Dad
had told me,
“You’re busy. I’ll get
Emily ready for bed.”
Another time, the bathroom door had been closed. When I knocked, I heard both of them laughing. Back then, I had smiled.
Now the same memory felt completely different. All day, I kept telling
myself I was overreacting. But something in me
refused to let it go.
The next evening, Dad came over again. After dinner, Emily ran up to him.
“Grandpa, are we going to play our game today?”
I looked at my father. He smiled.
“If your mom doesn’t mind.”
“Of course,” I said.
But I had already made up my mind. Ten minutes later, I heard the water running.
Then Emily laughing. I slowly walked toward the bathroom. The door was closed, but not locked. I stepped close enough to
hear them. Dad said,
far from every terrible thing my mind had imagined that I just stood there for a few seconds.
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