My 10-year-old daughter always rushed to the bathroom as soon as she came home from school. When I asked, “Why do you always take a bath right away?” she smiled and said, “I just like to be clean.” However, one day while cleaning the drain, I found something. The moment I saw it, my whole body started trembling, and I immediately…

Exactly like the uniform skirt Lily wore to school.

My hands went cold. Fabric didn’t end up in a drain unless someone was scrubbing it aggressively. Tearing at it. Trying to remove something.

I flipped it over.

There was a faint brownish stain in the fibers.

Not dirt.

It looked like dried blood.

My heart slammed against my ribs. Lily was still at school. The house felt too quiet. I tried to reason it away—scraped knee, ripped hem—but suddenly her frantic bathing felt less like preference and more like urgency.

I didn’t wait.

I called the school.

When the secretary answered, I forced calm into my voice. “Has Lily had any injuries? Any accidents? Anything unusual after school?”

There was a pause—long enough to make my stomach twist.

Then she said quietly, “Mrs. Allen… can you come in right now?”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not the first parent to call about a child bathing the moment they get home.”

I drove with the fabric sealed in a sandwich bag on the passenger seat, like evidence I didn’t want to name. Every red light felt unbearable.