The following day, I noticed that my daughter’s jacket smelled like cigarette smoke.
My blood ran cold.
“Emma, are you hiding something from me?”
My daughter lowered her eyes.
“Grandma asked us not to tell you yet.”
At that moment, I realized something far more serious was happening than I had imagined.
Two days later, I came home from work earlier than usual.
I parked my car behind the house so no one would notice.
A faint light glowed through the kitchen window.
I approached quietly.
Martha was sitting in her usual chair. Emma and Jack stood beside her.
There were three small objects on the table.
Then I watched my mother-in-law place something between my son’s fingers, take his hand, and show him a movement that looked disturbingly familiar.
She repeated the same thing with Emma.
I froze.
When Jack raised his hand toward his face, I couldn’t take it anymore.