I had eventually helped her up.
At the time, it had been a disagreement between two parents.
Now I wondered whether I had missed the beginning of something much larger.
The responder asked whether my wife had ever been alone with our daughter for long periods.
“Yes.”
“How often?”
“Most weekdays.”
He looked at the phone.
I hated the silence that followed.
It made me understand that every ordinary memory could now contain a question.
Where had she taken our daughter?
What had she shown her?
What had she called an exercise?
What had I dismissed because I trusted her?
And how many things had she recorded without telling me?
I wanted to storm back into the house and search everything myself.
But I knew that wasn’t what my daughter needed.
So I stayed.
I stayed beside her.
I answered questions.
I let the responders do their work.
And I waited for the next fact.
