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.”

I took a breath.

Everything in me wanted to hesitate.

To soften it.

To doubt myself.

But then I looked at Sophie.

At the way she held onto me.

At the way her small hands gripped my shirt like she was afraid to let go.

And I didn’t hesitate anymore.

“I’m worried about my daughter,” I said. “Bath time lasts over an hour every night. She’s scared. She said… she said she’s not allowed to talk about it.”

The room went completely silent.

Mark let out a small laugh.

“She’s five,” he said. “She makes things up. It’s just a routine—”

“Sir,” the officer interrupted, “we’ll need you to step aside.”

The smile on Mark’s face faded.

Just a little.

“Is that really necessary?” he asked.

“Yes,” the officer said firmly.

Mark hesitated.

Then stepped back.

The second officer turned to me.