I couldn’t move.
“But why didn’t she tell me?”
“She tried, Margaret. Don’t you remember when she would say, ‘Mommy, don’t touch me. It feels bad’?”
Tears began rolling down my cheeks.
Yes.
I remembered.
And with terrible shame, I remembered how I had answered.
“Lily, stop exaggerating. I’m only giving you a hug.”
My father continued.
“A few weeks ago, your daughter told me she was frightened whenever people touched her unexpectedly. I spoke to a specialist I know, and she suggested that you take Lily to a pediatrician and have her properly evaluated.”
“THEN WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?”
My father wiped his eyes.
“I should have. I made a mistake thinking I could help her myself first.”
I looked at the objects scattered across the desk.
“Then what happened at the restaurant today?”
My father opened his phone.
A short video appeared on the screen.