I felt a cold heaviness settle in my chest. My heart was suddenly beating in two different rhythms: one as her father, and one as a man realizing something might be very wrong.
I didn’t want to scare her. I didn’t want to make her feel she’d done something wrong by telling me the truth as she understood it. So I took a deep breath and did my best to tuck my fear away.
Her crayon stopped. “What kind of game?”
“A surprise dinner game,” I said. “You and I will plan a big Father’s Day dinner. Just us. We’ll cook, we’ll decorate, and you can tell me all about your ideas. Everything you know. You can be my ‘secret helper.’”
Her whole face lit up. “Like a mission?”
“Exactly like a mission.”
She loved it. She had no idea I was gently guiding her to share more about what she’d seen and heard. For her, it was fun. For me, it was a way to gather the pieces I needed without putting the weight of adult problems on her small shoulders.
By the time we pulled into the driveway, I had heard enough to know that Father’s Day wasn’t going to be the cozy little celebration I’d been expecting.
It was going to be the day everything became clear.
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