At that moment, Emily came out of the kitchen and looked at her grandfather silently. There was something about the way they exchanged glances that I couldn’t understand.
As we were walking home, I asked my daughter if anything was worrying her.
“No. Grandpa is very good to me,” she replied quickly.
That night, Emily stood in front of the mirror, intently observing her reflection. Then she turned to me.
—Mom, do you know what Grandpa told me?
—What did he say to you?
—He told me I have a very nice figure and that soon everyone will notice it.
I felt my blood run cold.
I tried to stay calm.
—When did he tell you that?
—Yesterday, when we were in the upstairs room.
—And what were they doing there?
Fear appeared on Emily’s face.
—I can’t tell you. I promised him.
I didn’t sleep that night.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the closed door, the secrets, and my father’s troubled expression. I tried to convince myself that perhaps Emily had misinterpreted his words, but as a mother, I couldn’t ignore them.
The next day, I called my father and told him I needed to leave Emily with him for a few hours. He agreed, but I noticed a strange tension in his voice.
