Different child.
But there had never been enough proof.
Until now.
When they searched his laptop, they found hidden files.
Messages.
Photos.
Things so horrifying I still can’t speak about them.
He was arrested three weeks later.
I remember Lily sitting beside me when the detectives called.
“Mommy,” she whispered, “is the bad man gone?”
I hugged her tightly.
“Yes.”
For the first time in months, she slept peacefully that night.
Recovery wasn’t quick.
Trauma never disappears like in movies.
Lily needed therapy.
Some nights she still woke up crying.
Sometimes she refused to close bathroom doors.
Sometimes sudden noises made her panic.
And guilt followed me everywhere.
How had I missed it?
How many signs had I ignored because I wanted to believe I’d finally found happiness again?
One afternoon, almost a year later, I found Lily sitting beside the bathtub filling it with bubbles.
