stopped asking. I started watching. During the day, he behaved normally.
But around Lily, something had changed.
Sometimes she would look at him and immediately touch her mouth.
Sometimes Daniel would whisper,
“Not now.”
Once, when I walked into the kitchen, I saw him quickly put a small white box into his pocket.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing.”
He smiled. But his smile looked forced.
Then Lily stopped wanting dessert. That scared me more than anything.
Our eight-year-old daughter loved sweets.
Yet three nights in a row, she barely ate after dinner.
“Does your mouth hurt?” I asked.
She glanced at Daniel before answering.
“No.”
That glance stayed with me.
On Thursday night, I pretended to fall asleep. Daniel lay beside me for almost twenty minutes.
Then he moved. Carefully. Quietly. He slipped out of bed. I waited until the bedroom door closed.
Then I followed him. He went downstairs first. Into
his office.
I watched from the dark hallway as he unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk.
He removed the small white box.
Then something metallic. He put both into his pocket.
My heart began pounding. He went upstairs.
Straight to Lily’s bedroom. He closed the door behind him. I stood outside.
At first, I heard nothing.
Then Daniel spoke.
“Open wider.”
Every muscle in my body froze.
Lily’s voice came next.
“Daddy… I don’t want to.”
“Just a little more.”
“Can we stop?”
“Not yet.”
I stepped closer. Then Daniel said,
“I need to see everything.”
My hand went to the doorknob.
But before I opened it, I heard Lily start crying.
Then Daniel whispered,
“Your mother cannot know about this yet.”
I pushed the door open. Daniel spun around. Lily was sitting on the edge of her bed.
Tears were running down her face. Daniel had something small
