That night, Lily still tried to head for the bath when we got home.
I knelt in front of her. “You don’t have to wash to be okay,” I said. “You already are.”
“Will he come back?” she asked.
“No,” I told her. “He can’t.”
The case moved fast after that. Other parents came forward. The pattern was undeniable. Mr. Dalton was arrested. New policies were put in place. Therapy began.
Sometimes Lily drew pictures of herself behind a locked door labeled “MOM.” I keep one by my bed.
And I still think about the drain—how close I came to accepting “I just like to be clean” as the full story.
Sometimes danger hides in repetition, not noise.
