Suspicion.
Daniel glanced toward my robe pocket.
My heart kicked against my ribs.
I pressed the side button on my phone through the fabric and triggered the emergency call.
I did it without looking down.
Without taking my eyes off my son.
Daniel took another step.
“What did she tell you?”
“Enough.”
“Emily lies when she’s emotional.”
Behind me, she made a small sound.
Daniel heard it and leaned sideways to look around my shoulder.
“Tell her,” he said.
“Tell my mother what really happened.”
Emily’s hands trembled.
He waited.
When she remained silent, he answered for her.
“She slipped.
She gets dramatic.
Then she panics and makes everything worse.”
There it was.
The same story he had ordered her to tell in the bathroom.
Only this time, my phone was recording every word.
I said, “And the bruise around her wrist?”
Daniel’s eyes narrowed.
“She bruises easily.”
“Her lip?”
“She fell.”
“Her face?”
“Mom.”
One word.
A warning.
I remembered standing outside the bathroom the night before.
I remembered Daniel gripping Emily’s chin.
I remembered his white dress shirt beneath running water and the stain he had been scrubbing from it.
I remembered Emily sitting fully clothed in the bathtub while the shower drowned out her crying.
“I saw you,” I said.
Silence filled the hallway.
Daniel didn’t blink.
Emily stopped breathing behind me.
“What?”
“Last night.
Through the bathroom door.
I saw you.”
Daniel’s expression went empty.
I continued before fear could stop me.
“I heard what you told her to say.”
He stared at me for several seconds.
Then he smiled.
It was almost convincing.
“You’re seventy-three years old, Mom.
It was three in the morning.
You were half asleep.”
That hurt more than I expected.
Not because I believed him.
Because I understood what he was doing.
