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

And for the first time…

I felt nothing familiar.

Only distance.

Only cold.

“I just wanted to say goodnight,” I said, my voice steady in a way that surprised even me.

He studied me for a second.

Too long.

Like he was trying to read something.

Then he nodded. “She’ll be out in a minute.”

He walked past me.

And I smelled it again.

That same faint, strange scent.

Sweet.

Artificial.

My stomach turned.

I stayed where I was.

I didn’t move.

I didn’t speak.

Until Sophie stepped out.

Wrapped tightly in a towel.

Head down.

Just like always.

I knelt immediately.

“Hey, baby,” I said softly.

She looked up at me—and for a brief second, something flickered in her eyes.

Relief.

Then it disappeared.

“I’m tired,” she whispered.

“I know,” I said, pulling her into my arms. “It’s okay.”

Behind me, I heard Mark moving downstairs.