I didn’t wait another second.
I pounded on the bathroom door.
“Daniel! Open this door!”
The water stopped running.
Silence.
“Daniel!”
“I need one minute.”
“No. Open it now, or I’m calling the police.”
Emma started crying harder.
That was enough.
I grabbed my phone.
“I’m dialing.”
The lock clicked.
Daniel opened the door.
I pushed past him.
Emma was standing in the bathtub with water up to her ankles, wrapped in a towel around her waist.
Daniel was kneeling beside her.
And the little metal box was open on the floor.
Inside were sterile gauze pads, small medical dressings, antiseptic wipes, and a tube of prescription cream.
I froze.
“What is that?”
Daniel said nothing.
Then Emma turned slightly.
That was when I saw her back properly.
The red mark I had noticed that morning wasn’t a scratch.
There were several irritated patches across her lower back and near
