Chapter 2
Door moved under my palm before I decided to push it.
Hinge whispered against white trim and warm bathroom air hit my face, damp and still holding steam. Night light buzzed low over vanity. My daughter sat on edge of bathtub in oversized t-shirt, knees pulled up, hair damp at ends. She didn't look up at first. Her eyes stayed fixed on black mechanical timer beside white disposable paper cup on vanity. Dial pointed near 12:00. Tick sound was soft, steady, louder than room tone.
I had stood at crack and watched. Now door stood open and cold hallway air slipped past my beige sweater.
She startled when floor creaked. Shoulders jumped. Hand shot out and covered cup like I would take it.
"It won't take long," she said.
Voice was quick, rehearsed. Same words I'd heard through crack. She said them to timer, to cup, to me, like line could pause dial.
I stepped inside and did not close door behind me. Black handle stayed where I'd left it, cracked open. Smartphone in my sweater pocket glowed blue against fabric and then dimmed.
Bath mat was damp under my socks. Vanity top held two things too carefully placed: timer centered on tile seam, paper cup exactly beside it, both squared to edge like school project. Cup held maybe inch of water. Clear water, not juice. Small ripples still moving from her hand bumping it.
I breathed slow and tried to keep face still. Mother in door crack, not mother storming in. Difference mattered.
"You said that yesterday," I said, quiet.
She looked up then. Brown eyes wide. She didn't deny yesterday. She didn't explain yesterday. Mouth opened, closed.
Yesterday she'd been in here same time, same door closed, same timer ticking. I'd knocked and she'd called back same line, light and fast, and I'd let it go because bedtime already fought and hallway already dark. Now same line doubled, and contradiction sat between us heavier than steam.
I reached for timer without asking. Her fingers twitched but she let me pick it up.
Metal case warm from bathroom heat. Dial near 12:00, black hand trembling forward one click at a time. Not counting down. Counting up. She'd set it wrong or left it running. I turned it slightly and heard faint grind inside.
"Why is she still in here?" I said.
Words came out before I shaped them. Half to myself, half to her, voice low and tired. Not angry. Anxious. I meant why was she still in here near midnight, why was water in cup, why was timer at top of dial, why did yesterday repeat tonight.
She heard question as accusation. Face folded inward.
"I'm almost done," she said. Evasion quick. She pulled knees tighter and tucked chin. "Don't — I just need till it gets there. Then I'm done."
Till it gets where, I wanted to ask. Twelve exactly? Past twelve? Her eyes flicked to timer in my hand, then to cup, then to door behind me like she checked how much gap showed to hallway.
I set timer back down exactly where it had been, on seam, beside cup. My hand brushed cup. Paper was soft from damp, wax coating cool. Water inside smelled like nothing, just bathroom soap and toothpaste.
She watched my hand leave cup alone and exhaled.
I crouched to her level so beige sweater pooled at my knees. Breathing slowed to match hers. Small pause before speaking mattered; I let silence hold.
"You been doing this every night?" I asked. Short sentence. No lecture.
She shrugged, then nodded once, tiny. Then shook head like nod was mistake.
"I don't know," she whispered. "Sometimes."
Sometimes meant every night. Sometimes meant since yesterday became pattern.
I didn't push for daddy part. She hadn't said that line yet tonight and I wouldn't pull it from her. Secret still held behind teeth. I saw it in way she glanced at hallway when floor creaked, way she kept palm near cup like shield.
Tick kept going. Dial crept closer to 12:00. Cup water stilled.
I picked up cup this time. She made small sound but didn't stop me. I lifted it, felt weight, set it back. No trick inside. Just water.
"Help me understand timer," I said.
She stared at dial. Lips parted. Then closed again. Evasion again, but not lie.
"It has to get to twelve," she said. "It won't take long."
May you like
Same line third time, defensive, plea inside it. Don't take timer. Don't take cup. Don't tell.
I stayed inside bathroom with timer ticking near 12:00 and cup in reach, and she stayed guarded on tub edge, and door stayed cracked behind me with hallway dark beyond. I didn't resolve anything. I just stayed, and let tick count.
