At first, I thought she was playing in the living room. Then I checked the kitchen, the hallway, the guest room. No one seemed worried. “She must be around here somewhere,” said an aunt, still chewing on her toast.
But I knew my daughter’s silence.
I opened the door to the back bathroom and found her crouched behind the toilet, her knees drawn up to her chest, trembling. She wasn’t crying loudly. That was the worst part. Her eyes were open, unfocused, as if she had learned that crying only made things worse.
“Sofi… my love, it’s Dad,” I said, kneeling down.
She was slow to react. When she finally stretched out her arms, she clung to me with desperate strength.
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