“I’m not allowed to tell you.”
At that moment, Daniel entered the room. He looked at me and then at Lily.
“Go to your room, sweetheart.”
Once she had left, I asked him what they were hiding from me.
“It’s only a game we play,” he replied. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
But his voice sounded more tense than usual.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept remembering all the little things I had noticed during the past few weeks: Lily’s secretive
answers, Daniel’s whispers, and the strange looks they exchanged whenever I unexpectedly entered a room.
The next day, I tried to speak calmly with my daughter.
“Lily, if anyone ever tells you to keep something secret from Mommy, you can always tell me.”
“Even if it’s a good secret?”
“Yes. Especially if it makes you feel uncomfortable.”
She remained silent for several seconds.
“Daddy said I’m not ready yet.”
“Not ready for what?”
But just then, Daniel returned from work. Lily jumped from the couch and ran to him.
Once again, he leaned down and whispered something into her ear.
This time, instead of smiling, my daughter looked at me nervously. My heart sank.
Two days later, something happened that made it impossible for me to continue telling myself that everything was fine.
I was gathering laundry in the bedroom when I heard Daniel say:
