Last Sunday, Emily unexpectedly walked into my bedroom. Her eyes were swollen from crying.
“Mom, I can’t keep quiet anymore.”
She sat beside me and handed me her phone.
A bank account was open on the screen.
$183,450.
I stared at the number in disbelief.
“Emily, where did you get all this money?”
She lowered her head.
“Dad has been transferring it to me. For five years.”
My heart began pounding.
“What for?”
My daughter burst into tears.
“So I wouldn’t tell you what happened in his car when I was fifteen.”
A cold shiver ran through my body.
“Emily, look at me. Did your father do something to you? Are you safe?”
She nodded.
“I’m safe, Mom. But you need to know what happened.”
“Then tell me. Right now!”