For years, my mother wore long sleeves even in the middle of summer. One day I finally asked, “Did Dad do something to you?” She went pale, closed the door, and said something that frightened me even more…

My father replied,

“Then they won’t.”

That was enough.

In my mind, the whole picture was already complete.

I began looking at my father differently. He had always been kind to me. He had never hit me. But I kept telling myself that

people could be very different behind closed doors.

One evening, my mother was folding laundry.

My father was still at work. I walked into their bedroom.

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“Can I ask you something?”

She smiled.

“Of course.”

I didn’t know how to say it. Finally, I asked directly.

“Did Dad do something to you?”