My father sighed heavily.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
But he still refused to explain why they were going to the hotel.
The following week, I noticed Emma was walking with a slight limp.
“What happened to your foot?”
“Nothing, Mommy. It just hurts a little.”
There was a small red mark on her right foot.
When I asked where it came from, she answered:
“At the beach.”
That evening, my father called.
“How’s Emma’s foot?”
I froze.
“You know her foot is hurting?”
“Yes, but I think it’ll get better soon.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Once again, he fell silent.
I hung up.
For the first time in my life, I began feeling afraid of my own father.
A few days later, Emma came home from school and said:
“Mommy, Grandpa wants to take me to the hotel again on Saturday.”
“No.”
My daughter
looked disappointed.
“But he promised that this time everything would be finished.”
I stared at her.
“What would be finished?”
Emma quickly corrected herself.
“Nothing… Just our project.”
That night, I barely slept.
The following morning, I decided to confront my father.
He came to our house carrying Emma’s favorite cookies.
I looked him straight in the eyes.
“Dad, what exactly are you doing with my daughter at that hotel?”
His expression changed.
“Anna, I would never hurt Emma.”
“Then tell me the truth.”
He sat down.
“I promised I’d
explain everything when the time was right.”
“What time?”
He didn’t answer.
I told him I would no longer allow Emma to go anywhere alone with him.
My father didn’t argue.
He simply stopped at the front door and said:
“Anna, sometimes what we see isn’t the whole truth.”
Those words only made me more anxious.
On Saturday morning, I had to go to work for two hours.
Emma stayed with our neighbor, Mrs. Mary.
At eleven o’clock, I called to check on my daughter.
Mary answered.
“Anna, your father
came and picked Emma up. He said you knew about it.”
I nearly dropped my phone.
I immediately called my father.
No answer.
I called Emma.
Her phone was switched off.
My heart began pounding.
I got into my car and drove straight toward the beachfront hotel.
Throughout the journey, I kept repeating:
“Please, God, let my little girl be okay.”
As soon as I arrived, I hurried to the reception desk.
