Every time my teenage daughter returned from her father’s house, she went straight to the bathroom and locked herself inside.
For weeks, I kept telling myself it was only the stress of the divorce—until I found a torn piece of her favorite blouse near the shower drain and finally asked what she was trying so hard to wash off.
161
My daughter always rushed to shower after visiting Lloyd, and for three weeks I forced myself not to overreact.
Then I found the fabric.
It was a small strip of pale blue cotton, the same blue blouse Hannah adored—the one with tiny stitched daisies along the seam. One edge carried a dry brown mark.
I stood in the bathroom with tweezers in my hand, staring at it while my stomach dropped.
That blouse mattered to her. We had found it at a thrift shop not long after the divorce was finalized. Hannah had held it against herself in front of a foggy mirror and smiled.
“It makes me look like I know what I’m doing,” she had said.
I bought it, even though money was tight.
Now a torn piece of it was lying in my palm.
I called Lloyd.
He picked up after several rings. “Hey, Mindy. Everything okay?”
“No,” I said. “Everything is not okay.”
His voice changed. “What happened?”
“You tell me.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t play innocent. Hannah came home from your place and went straight into the shower again.”
“She’s fifteen. Teenagers shower.”
“She doesn’t even say hello first. She runs in and locks the door.”
He sighed. “Maybe she just wants privacy.”
“I found part of her blue blouse in the drain.”
Silence.
“There’s a brown mark on it,” I said.
“It isn’t blood,” he answered too quickly.
My hand tightened around the sink. “Then you know what it is?”
Another pause.
“Lloyd.”
“It’s rust,” he said. “From the cabinet hinge in the guest bathroom. Hannah told me.”
“How does a blouse get ripped on a cabinet hinge?”
“Mindy, it’s not what you think.”
“Then stop letting me imagine the worst.”
His voice dropped. “Hannah begged me not to tell you, but you need to know what’s been going on.”
I went still. “Then tell me.”
“It started with Marissa.”
Of course it did.
“What did your wife do?”
“Not over the phone,” he said.
“Are you serious?”
“She asked me not to tell you. I already broke that promise. Meet me tomorrow. Nine o’clock. The park by the library.”
I looked toward Hannah’s room. Her light was still on.
“You have until nine,” I said. “And if I think you’re hiding anything that hurts her, I won’t wait for permission.”
Then I hung up.
The next morning, I made pancakes even though Hannah usually only wanted toast.
She stared at the plate. “What’s this?”
“A bribe.”
“For what?”
“The truth.”
Her fork froze.
“I found the blouse, Han.”
Her face lost color. “You went through my things?”
“I went into the bathroom after you locked yourself in there for forty minutes.”
“I just needed a shower.”
“Then why did you come home wearing someone else’s hoodie?”
She looked down. “It was nothing.”
“It ripped.”
“I caught it on something.”
“At Dad’s?”
Her eyes filled quickly. “Please don’t make this a big deal.”
“It already is.”
“No, Mom.” Her voice cracked. “If you and Dad fight, it gets worse there.”
“What gets worse?”
She shoved the plate away. “Nothing.”
“You just said worse.”
“I meant awkward.”
“That’s not what you meant.”
