Whenever I approached, their conversation stopped.
One evening, I tried to open the door, but it was locked from the inside. I knocked. For several seconds, no one answered.
Then my father opened the door just enough for me to see his face.
“What are you doing in there?” I asked.
“We’re just playing.”
I tried to look past him, but he blocked my view with his body. Emily was standing near the desk, hurriedly hiding something
behind her back.
“What are you holding?” I asked her.
She looked at her grandfather and then at me.
“Nothing, Mom.”
I couldn’t sleep that night.
Over the next few days, everything became even more troubling. Emily began waiting until I went into the kitchen before
quietly knocking on Grandpa’s door. Once she entered, my father sometimes locked it with a key.
One evening, as I walked down the hallway, I heard my father say:
