The Teacher Who Taught Death
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Summary
Lately, my four-year-old daughter, Daisy, has been bolting upright in bed in the dead of night.
Heart racing, I’d pull her into my lap, whispering into her hair, asking if she’d had a nightmare or if her tummy ached. She’d only offer a fleeting, skittish glance before looking away, her voice a tiny, jagged splinter of its usual self. She’d tell me it was nothing, then beg me to stop asking. She said she wasn’t allowed to tell.
A cold knot formed in my stomach. What could a four-year-old possibly keep from her own mother?
