I crouched down, careful to keep my voice light. Honey, you’ll feel better after warm water. It’s okay. If you want, I can sit by the tub the whole time.
Her fingers tightened around the rabbit’s ear.
Then, in a voice so shaky it barely sounded like hers, she whispered, Auntie… you won’t hit me?
I felt something cold move through my body.
Why would you ask that? I said.
Emma looked terrified the second the words left her mouth, like she had broken a rule she was too young to name. She started apologizing immediately, saying she did not mean anything, that she could be quick, that she would not splash. I told her she had nothing to apologize for. I said no one was going to hurt her here. I said it again and again until her breathing slowed.
Finally, I told her we could sit on the bathroom floor together first, no pressure, no bath until she felt ready.
When she let the towel slip from her shoulders enough for me to help her, I saw it.
Not graphic, not bloody, but enough.
Faded yellowing bruises. Thin marks crossing older ones. A pattern no child gets from ordinary play.
