It all began the way most frightening things do—casually, in the middle of an ordinary moment. A random Wednesday morning over cereal.
Ellie sat at the kitchen table eating a bowl of Cheerios with the intense concentration she applies to everything she does. Without even looking up, she said, “Mr. Tom thinks you work too much, Mommy.”
I slowly set my coffee mug down. “Who’s Mr. Tom?”
“He checks on me!” she said brightly, as if that explained everything.
I assumed it was an imaginary friend. Ellie has a whole universe in her imagination. So I let it slide.
That was my first mistake.
About a week later, she stopped me in my tracks.
I was brushing her hair before bed while we both looked at each other in the bathroom mirror. She frowned at her reflection and asked, “Mom, why does Mr. Tom only come when you’re asleep?”
