After that, bath time became terror.
Sometimes he’d wait outside the bathroom.
Sometimes he’d come in without knocking.
Sometimes he’d tell her not to lock the door because “families don’t hide things.”
I felt physically sick listening to her.
Every sentence was another knife twisting deeper into my chest.
And the worst part?
She thought I knew.
“He said you were okay with it,” she whispered.
I broke completely after hearing that.
I cried harder than I had since my husband’s funeral.
Because my little girl had been suffering in silence while I stood right beside her and failed to see it.
The next morning, I acted normal.
That was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
Ryan sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee while scrolling through his phone.
“Morning,” he said casually.
I looked at him and wondered how evil could wear such an ordinary face.
Lily stayed glued to my side.
Ryan noticed.
“She’s clingy lately,” he joked.
I nearly threw the coffee pot at him.
Instead, I forced a smile.
“I’m taking Lily to my mother’s for a few days.”
He frowned slightly.
“Why?”
“She needs a change of environment.”
His eyes narrowed for just a moment.
Then he smiled again.
“Sure.”
That smile terrified me now.
