One afternoon, I found them sitting together on the living room sofa.
Daniel had his arm around her shoulders.
“Smile, Grandma,” he said as I raised my phone to take a photograph.
But my mother wasn’t smiling.
Underneath the table, her trembling fingers gripped my hand.
When Daniel went to the kitchen, she leaned toward me.
“Margaret, please. Don’t leave me alone with him tonight.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“Mom, what has he done?”
She opened her mouth.
But Daniel returned.
“Everything okay?”
My mother immediately released my hand.
“Of course, darling.”
That night, she called me at 2:43 a.m.
Her voice was barely audible.
“Margaret, he’s coming again.”
“Who?”
“Daniel. Every night he brings that black bag. He makes me look at things I can’t bear to see.”
“Mom, lock your door!”
“I can’t. He has the key.”
Then I heard footsteps.
“Grandma? Are you talking to Mom?”
