stopped asking. I started watching. During the day, he behaved normally.
But around Lily, something had changed.
Sometimes she would look at him and immediately touch her mouth.
Sometimes Daniel would whisper,
“Not now.”
Once, when I walked into the kitchen, I saw him quickly put a small white box into his pocket.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing.”
He smiled. But his smile looked forced.
Then Lily stopped wanting dessert. That scared me more than anything.
Our eight-year-old daughter loved sweets.
Yet three nights in a row, she barely ate after dinner.
“Does your mouth hurt?” I asked.
She glanced at Daniel before answering.
“No.”
That glance stayed with me.
On Thursday night, I pretended to fall asleep. Daniel lay beside me for almost twenty minutes.
Then he moved. Carefully. Quietly. He slipped out of bed. I waited until the bedroom door closed.
Then I followed him. He went downstairs first. Into
