My five-year-old daughter always bathed with my husband. They would stay in there for more than an hour every night. When I finally asked her what they were doing, she burst into tears and said, “Daddy says I can’t talk about games in the bath.”

“Just a few more minutes, sweetheart,” he said.

My stomach twisted.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

My voice came out in a whisper. “I think… I think something is wrong with my daughter. My husband—he’s in the bathroom with her. I need someone here. Now.”

“Are you in immediate danger?”

I looked back at the half-open door.

I didn’t answer right away.

Because I didn’t know.

“I don’t know,” I finally said. “But I think she is.”

The dispatcher’s tone sharpened instantly.

“Stay on the line. Officers are on their way. Do not confront him directly. Do you understand?”

I nodded—then realized she couldn’t see me.

“Yes.”

My heart pounded so hard I could hear it in my ears.

Inside, I heard the timer beep.

A sharp, mechanical sound.

Then silence.

Then water moving.

I stepped back from the door, pressing myself against the wall like I could disappear into it. My hands were shaking so badly I almost dropped the phone.