“Emma, have you been crying?”
“No, Mom. I’m just tired.”
She hurried upstairs.
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
A week later, things became even worse.
My husband began taking Emma out several evenings a week.
Sometimes they returned after dark.
Whenever I asked where they had been, he gave the same answer.
“Just taking care of something.”
One afternoon, while collecting laundry, I found a folded paper in Emma’s jacket pocket.
It was an appointment confirmation from a private medical clinic.
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