Finally, he asked, “Did Emily seem upset?”
“No. That's what makes this so confusing. She seemed perfectly happy.”
“Have you noticed anything else unusual?”
I shook my head.
“Then maybe there's an innocent explanation.”
“I know.”
Daniel sat beside me.
“But if you're worried, we should find out. Calmly. Without making Emily feel that she's done something wrong.”
His words helped, although they didn't erase the anxiety gathering inside me.
We agreed that until I understood the game, I would handle bath time myself.
The next morning, I considered calling Dad and asking him directly.
I even picked up my phone several times.
But every time I imagined the conversation, I stopped.
How could I ask the person I trusted most to explain something that might be completely harmless?
Would he feel hurt?
Would he think I believed something terrible about him?
By lunchtime, I realized those questions were distracting me from the one that mattered.
My daughter's safety was more important than avoiding an uncomfortable conversation.
That afternoon, Dad called to ask whether we needed anything from the grocery store.
His voice sounded exactly as it always had.
Warm. Familiar. Cheerful.
“Emily told me she's planning to plant purple flowers next spring,” he said. “Apparently, my garden doesn't have enough purple.”
I managed a laugh.
“She has very strong opinions about colors.”
“She certainly does.”
There was nothing suspicious in his behavior. Nothing unusual in his voice.
And yet, after we hung up, I found myself staring at the phone.
I had never imagined feeling frightened of something involving my own father.
The uncertainty was exhausting.
The following evening, Dad came over for dinner as he usually did.
He brought a small bag of apples and a packet of sunflower seeds for Emily.
She ran toward him the moment he entered.
“Grandpa!”
He knelt carefully and opened his arms.
“There she is! My favorite gardener.”
“I'm your only gardener!”
“That makes the decision very easy.”
She giggled and hugged him tightly.
During dinner, they talked about a butterfly she'd seen at school. Dad promised to show her a book containing pictures of different species.
I watched him closely.
His patience seemed genuine. His affection seemed natural.
But I was still waiting for an answer.
After dinner, Emily finished her glass of water and turned toward him.
“Grandpa, are we playing our game tonight?”
My stomach tightened.
Dad glanced at me.
“If your mother doesn't mind.”
I forced myself to smile.
“Of course.”
Then I added, “I'll be nearby if you need anything.”
Dad nodded.
“Sounds good.”
A few minutes later, Emily hurried upstairs with her pajamas.
I stood in the hallway, listening to their footsteps.
Soon, I heard the bathtub filling.
Then Dad's voice.
“Careful, sweetheart. The floor is slippery.”
Emily laughed.
“I know, Grandpa!”
The water stopped running.
I waited another minute.
Then another.
I heard splashing, followed by the familiar squeak of a rubber duck.
Everything sounded ordinary.
But my heartbeat had become so loud that I could almost hear it.
I walked slowly toward the bathroom.
The door was closed but not locked.
Standing outside, I heard Dad speak.
“Okay, Emily. Ready for our game?”
“Yes!”
“Close your eyes now. No cheating.”
“They're closed!”
“Are you sure?”
“Grandpa!”
He chuckled.
“All right. Listen carefully.”
A few seconds passed.
Then Emily burst into laughter.
“I know! I know what it is!”
That was the moment my fear overwhelmed me.
I grabbed the handle and pushed the door open.
“Dad!”
My father turned around, startled.
And then I saw what was happening.
Emily was sitting safely in the bathtub, surrounded by fluffy white bubbles and brightly colored bath toys.
A yellow rubber duck floated beside a small plastic boat.
My father was kneeling next to the tub, holding a small rinsing cup in one hand and the rubber duck in the other.
Emily's eyes were squeezed shut, and she was grinning from ear to ear.
For several seconds, nobody said anything.
Then Emily opened her eyes.
“Mom!” she exclaimed. “You ruined the game!”
I looked from her to my father.