My five-year-old daughter always bathed with my husband. They would stay in there for more than an hour every night. When I finally asked her what they were doing, she burst into tears and said, “Daddy says I can’t talk about games in the bath.” #4 #85

I nodded—then realized she couldn’t see me.

“Yes.”

My heart pounded so hard I could hear it in my ears.

Inside, I heard the timer beep.

A sharp, mechanical sound.

Then silence.

Then water moving.

I stepped back from the door, pressing myself against the wall like I could disappear into it. My hands were shaking so badly I almost dropped the phone.

“Ma’am, where are you right now?” the dispatcher asked.

“In the hallway,” I whispered. “Outside the bathroom.”

“Good. Stay there. Help is close.”

Seconds stretched into something unbearable.

Then—

Footsteps.

The water shut off.

The door opened.

I forced myself to look normal.

Mark stepped out first, towel over his shoulder, that same easy smile on his face.

“Sophie’s almost done,” he said casually. “You didn’t need to wait up here.”

I stared at him.

At his face.

At the man I had shared a bed with for years.