“Who, honey? Amanda?” Lily nodded frantically, sobbing. “I was hungry, Dad.” “What?” “Last night’s dinner… it was so little. And she locked the pantry again. I… I found a piece of stale bread she’d dropped. I hid it under my bed to eat this morning. I was stunned. A lock on the pantry? Hungry?”
Lily continued, and each word was like a hot knife piercing my heart. “She found me. She said I’m a thief. She said thieves and bad girls have to learn. She dragged me into the kitchen…” Lily choked on her own sobs. “She put water on to boil in the big pot. And then… then she grabbed my wrists…”
She couldn’t finish. There was no need. I looked at her bandaged hands. I looked at her small, malnourished body under the hospital gown. Suddenly, all the pieces fell into place. The weight loss I attributed to her growth spurt. The silence. The fear. Amanda wasn’t taking care of my daughter. Amanda was torturing her. And I, with my absence, with my “important job,” had allowed it.
“She said that boiling water washes away the sin of stealing,” Lily sobbed. “She said that if I told you, you’d leave forever and leave me all alone.”