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

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 continue reading …