“One day my little daughter told me, ‘Mom, every time Grandpa gives me a bath, he asks me to play a game. I have to close my eyes, and while they’re closed, he does something…’ I froze. The next day, I opened the bathroom door without warning… and what I saw made my legs start shakingr told me, ‘Mom, every time Grandpa gives me a bath, he asks me to play a game. I have to close my eyes, and while they’re closed, he does something…’ I froze. The next day, I opened the bathroom door without warning… and what I saw made my legs start shaking

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frightening possibilities around it.

The next morning, I started remembering little things that had never seemed important before. A few weeks earlier, Dad

had told me,

“You’re busy. I’ll get Emily ready for bed.”

Another time, the  bathroom  door had been closed. When I knocked, I heard both of them laughing. Back then, I had smiled.

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Now the same memory felt completely different. All day, I kept telling

myself I was overreacting. But something in me

 

refused to let it go.

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The next evening, Dad came over again. After dinner, Emily ran up to him.

“Grandpa, are we going to play our  game today?”

I looked at my father. He smiled.

“If your mom doesn’t mind.”

“Of course,” I said.

But I had already made up my mind. Ten minutes later, I heard the water running.

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Then Emily laughing. I slowly walked toward the  bathroom. The  door was closed, but not locked. I stepped close enough to

hear them. Dad said,

“Okay, close your eyes now. No cheating.”

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“They’re closed.”

“And now, guess.”

A few seconds of silence.

Then Emily burst out laughing.

“I know!”

That was when I couldn’t wait any longer. Without knocking, I opened the door.

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He turned around in surprise.

And what I saw was so

far from every terrible thing my mind had imagined that I just stood there for a few seconds.

 

Emily was sitting safely in the  tub, surrounded by bubbles and  bath toys.

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Her eyes were closed.

My father was holding a small cup in one hand, using it to rinse her hair, while in the other hand he held one of Emily’s rubber ducks.

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“Mom,” Emily laughed, “you ruined the  game!”

I looked at them, confused.

“What game?”

Dad slowly smiled.

“Guess the sound.”

It turned out that a few months earlier, Emily had started being afraid of having her hair washed because shampoo had once gotten into her eyes.

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Every bath had become stressful.

My father didn’t want that fear to get worse.

So he invented a game.

Emily would close her eyes, and Dad would make sounds using different bath toys—the rubber duck, a little cup, a water bottle.

 

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