And what I saw inside made my knees buckle.
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He was sitting on a small plastic stool beside the sink.
His shirt sleeves were rolled up.
His hands were trembling so badly that he could barely hold a comb.
Emma stood beside him, holding a little towel.
On the counter were an old photograph, a shaving brush, and a small wooden box.
“Dad?” I whispered.
My father looked terrified.
Not because I had caught him doing something terrible.
But because I had discovered something he was desperately trying to hide.
“Sarah,” he said weakly. “I wanted to tell you. I just couldn’t.”
Emma ran toward me.
“Mommy, please don’t be angry! Grandpa didn’t do anything bad!”
I knelt and hugged her tightly.
“You’re safe, sweetheart. That’s what matters.”
Then I looked at my father.
“What’s going on?”
His eyes filled with tears.
