My five-year-old daughter hid from her aunt at a family gathering and quietly asked, “Daddy… am I supposed to say sorry?” Moments later, one small test exposed the truth my parents were desperate to cover up.

That sentence hurt worse than any scream.

When I reached out to hold her, she flinched like she was expecting another hit.

My little girl had never pulled away from me before.

I picked her up carefully. Her small hands clung to my neck, shaking.

In that moment, I remembered Claire lying pale in her hospital bed, squeezing my hand with the little strength she still had.