Then she whispered something so quietly I almost didn’t hear it.
“Please don’t make me go in there…”
My stomach tightened.
“In where, sweetheart?”
Her entire body trembled.
“The bathroom when Ryan is home.”
For a moment, the room became perfectly silent.
The ticking clock on the wall seemed impossibly loud.
The hum of the refrigerator.
The distant sound of the television downstairs.
Everything suddenly felt wrong.
I stared at my daughter.
Six years old.
Terrified.
Shaking.
Looking at me as though she expected me not to believe her.
