My five-year-old daughter always took a bath with my husband

I didn’t know what infuriated me more: that he called her a liar or that he said it tenderly.
As if discrediting her was also a way of caring for her.

The paramedic led me to the sofa.
Sophie didn’t want to leave my side, so we sat together.
They offered her a blanket.
She wouldn’t let go of her stuffed rabbit.

One of the officers asked Mark to stay back.
The other went up to the bathroom with a flashlight and a notebook, even though the light was on.

I heard drawers open.
I heard the toilet flush.
I heard the timer finally go silent.
And with each domestic sound, I felt something horrible: monstrosity could live even among small things.

Mark started talking too much.

That scared me too.
Innocent people sometimes get angry.
He, on the other hand, argued, detailed, organized, offered information like someone preparing a dossier.

She said Sophie had anxiety when she slept.
She said warm baths calmed her.
She said the glass contained a dissolved mineral supplement and that she could show receipts.

The officer who had gone upstairs came back down with a clear plastic bag.
Inside were the glass, a measuring spoon, an unlabeled jar, and the kitchen timer.