“Did any of you take something from under Mommy and Daddy’s bed?” I asked gently. They all shook their heads. “No, Mommy.”
But Jules, my eldest—my thoughtful, honest nine-year-old—hesitated.
Her eyes flicked up at me, guilty and scared. “I saw Daddy take it,” she whispered. “He told me it was a secret.
And he said he’d buy me a dollhouse if I didn’t tell.”
Something cracked inside me then. I kissed her forehead, told her it was okay, and let them keep playing. But I stayed there on the floor for a long time, my chest heavy, my breaths uneven, my entire world shifting under the weight of a truth I wasn’t ready to face.
