She wasn’t snooping—at least not at first. She was looking for paperwork, something ordinary that might explain my father’s recent absences and strange behavior. Instead, she opened a drawer she had never touched before and found an object that immediately unsettled her.
The moment she saw it, a familiar fear surfaced—one she had carried quietly for years without ever giving it a name.
Nothing had ever been said aloud.
There were no accusations, no reports, no confrontations—only small observations that never quite fit together: the way my father would retreat
