At first, I told myself I was imagining things, because doubt seemed safer than accepting something that could completely shatter my world. My daughter, Emily Carter, was small for her age, with soft curls and a quiet personality that led everyone to describe her as gentle and sweet.
My husband, Scott Carter, insisted that bath time was their special bonding routine, and he would often smile as he said it helped her relax before bed each night. He would look at me and say, “You’re lucky I’m so involved,” and for a while I believed him without questioning anything.
Then I started to notice time more closely, because what once seemed normal started to turn into something that felt wrong. It was never just ten or twenty minutes, because sometimes it would last an hour or even longer, for no clear reason.
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