Daddy… my back hurts so WRK much I can’t sleep. Mommy said I’m not allowed to tell you.” — I had just come home from a business trip when my daughter’s whisper exposed the secret her mother tried to hide.

My instinct—the instinct of a father who had spent every day since her birth trying to shield her from the world’s sharp edges—was to reach out and pull her into my arms. I wanted to crush the fear out of her. But the moment my hand brushed the cotton of her shoulder, Sophie gasped. It was a wet, sharp sound of agony. She recoiled, stumbling back into the doorframe.

“Please—don’t,” she whimpered. “It burns.”

I pulled my hand back as if I had touched a hot stove. “I’m sorry,” I choked out, my composure fracturing. “I didn’t mean to. Sophie, look at me. Tell me exactly what happened.”

She glanced down the hallway, her eyes darting toward the empty space where the master bedroom lay, checking for a shadow, a footstep. Her breathing was shallow, rapid.