My 5-year-old daughter said to me, “Mom, when it’s time for sleep at Grandpa’s house, she calls me to her room, asks me to close my eyes and we play a secret game. But he told me I couldn’t tell you.” I was paralyzed. The next day, I sneaked into my father's bedroom and what I discovered caused my legs to shake.

“And then?”

“Then he comes over, holds my hand and tells me not to look.

I could barely breathe.

Why can’t you look?

Emily lowered her head.

Because he says that if I look, I will ruin everything.

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I hugged my daughter tightly.

“Honey, have you ever been scared of that game?” Has Grandpa forced you to do something you didn't want?

She looked at me in surprise.

—No, mamá. Pero una vez el abuelo empezó a llorar.

Me quedé helada.

—¿A llorar? ¿Por qué?

I don’t know. He said he reminded him of a girl he missed a lot.

Aquella noche no pude dormir. Sus palabras se repetían una y otra vez en mi cabeza.

Un juego secreto.

Los ojos cerrados.

El dormitorio del abuelo.

Y el hecho de que mi padre hubiera llorado.

Mi marido, Daniel, notó que algo me preocupaba. Cuando se lo conté todo, su expresión se volvió seria.