her side, some covered by tiny transparent dressings.
My fear turned instantly into anger.
“What have you been doing to her?”
“Laura, listen—”
“Don’t tell me to listen! Why does she have these marks?”
Emma reached toward me.
“Mommy.”
I lifted her from the tub and wrapped her tightly in the towel.
Daniel remained kneeling on the floor.
Then, very quietly, he said:
“She has a skin condition.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“I noticed the first patch about a month ago. I sent photographs to a dermatologist I know through work.”
My mind struggled to process his words.
“You took our daughter to a doctor without telling me?”
“No. I sent pictures first. Then I took her to an appointment while you were at work.”
My stomach dropped.
“You lied to me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Daniel looked down.
And what he said next made even less sense.
“Because of your
