When they returned, Emily was completely different.
She barely spoke, avoided family dinners, and locked herself in her bedroom whenever Daniel was home.
At first, I assumed she was simply going through a difficult teenage phase.
But six weeks later, while cleaning the bathroom, I discovered a positive pregnancy test hidden beneath some towels.
My hands began trembling.
That evening, I sat beside Emily on her bed.
“Honey, please tell me the truth. Are you pregnant?”
Her face turned pale.
Then she burst into tears.
“I’m sorry, Mom! I’m so sorry!”
I hugged her tightly.
“Sweetheart, you’re my daughter. Nothing will ever change that. But please tell me who the father is.”
Suddenly, she stopped crying and glanced nervously toward the bedroom door.
“Mom, please don’t trust Dad.”
I stared at her.
“What are you talking about, Emily?”
She grabbed my hands.
“Please promise you won’t tell him I said anything.”
