“Grandpa said you shouldn’t worry.”
“Why would you need a hotel room?”
Emma lowered her eyes.
“Mommy, I promised Grandpa I wouldn’t tell anyone.”
Something inside me went cold.
That evening, I called my father.
“Dad, why are you taking Emma into a hotel room?”
He remained silent for several seconds.
“Anna, everything is fine.”
“Then why is my daughter keeping secrets from me?”
“Please, just give me a little more time.”
I became angry.
“She’s ten years old! You have no right to ask her to hide things from me!”
My father sighed heavily.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
But he still refused to explain why they were going to the hotel.
The following week, I noticed Emma was walking with a slight limp.
“What happened to your foot?”
“Nothing, Mommy. It just hurts a little.”
There was a small red mark on her right foot.
When I asked where it came from, she answered:
“At the beach.”
That evening, my father called.
“How’s Emma’s foot?”
I froze.
“You know her foot is hurting?”
“Yes, but I think it’ll get better soon.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Once again, he fell silent.
I hung up.
For the first time in my life, I began feeling afraid of my own father.
A few days later, Emma came home from school and said:
“Mommy, Grandpa wants to take me to the hotel again on Saturday.”
“No.”
My daughter looked disappointed.
“But he promised that this time everything would be finished.”
I stared at her.
“What would be finished?”
Emma quickly corrected herself.
“Nothing… Just our project.”
That night, I barely slept.
The following morning, I decided to confront my father.
He came to our house carrying Emma’s favorite cookies.
I looked him straight in the eyes.
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