“My husband, Mark, and I took our 4-year-old daughter, Sophie, to the company party celebrating her promotion at work.
The party was going swimmingly. Every third person seemed to be congratulating my husband! And I couldn’t be prouder! I held Sophie’s hand as her father went from congratulations to congratulations, shaking hands and enjoying the spotlight.
Suddenly, our daughter yelled, “MOM, LOOK! IT’S THE LADY WITH THE WORMS!”
A few people glanced our way. I tried to shush her and whispered, “What worms, sweetheart? Speak quietly, please.”
She nodded and said, “DAD SAID SHE HAD WORMS. I SAW THEM WHEN WE—”
She trailed off. Her brow furrowed, her lips pursed, as if deep in thought.
I crouched down again. “When you what, Sophie?”
She whispered, blushing, “I’m not supposed to tell. Dad said not to tell anyone about the worms. That Mom would be angry.”
My stomach lurched.
“Angry?” I managed to ask, before Mark suddenly appeared at my side, a drink in his hand, his cheeks flushed from the attention.
“Hi,” I said curtly. “Can I have a second?”
Mark gave me a quizzical look but nodded and followed me to the side of the room.
“What was that about, Mark? What did you say to Sophie?” I asked, trying to keep my voice low but failing to hide the growing unease in my chest.
Mark took a long sip of his drink before responding, his smile fading slightly. “It’s nothing. Really, it’s just a joke. I didn’t think she’d remember it.”
“Nothing? You told her about ‘worms’ and you didn’t think she’d remember?” My voice was rising now, and I could feel the eyes of some of the partygoers starting to linger in our direction.
Mark sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It was a silly thing, okay? I was trying to distract her, make her laugh when she asked about Mrs. Hamilton’s weird behavior last week. I might’ve exaggerated a bit—”
“Exaggerated a bit?!” I interrupted, my heart pounding in my chest. “Mark, are you telling me you made up some story about ‘worms’ and told Sophie not to tell me?”
He shifted uncomfortably, looking around the room nervously. “It wasn’t a big deal. I didn’t want her to get upset. Mrs. Hamilton just acted a little strange, and I thought—”
“Wait,” I interrupted again, starting to put the pieces together. “You mean the lady who was at the dinner last week? The one who kept scratching her arms?”
Mark winced. “Yeah, that’s her.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “Mark, that’s not funny. What if she heard Sophie? What if she thinks we’re making fun of her?”
“I didn’t mean for Sophie to say anything,” Mark replied quickly. “It was just a small thing, okay? Let’s drop it.”
But I couldn’t drop it. Sophie had already said too much, and now I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. The worms… that comment had an uncomfortable ring to it, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the full extent of it. But what if there was something more to the story than just a harmless joke?
“I need to go talk to Mrs. Hamilton,” I said, my voice trembling slightly. Mark’s eyes widened.
“Wait, wait!” he pleaded. “Don’t, uh, do that. Please. Let’s just forget about it. It’s a silly misunderstanding.”
But Sophie’s innocent comment had opened a door that I couldn’t close. I needed answers, and I needed them now.
As I turned toward the group again, I noticed Mrs. Hamilton standing alone near the food table. Her face was pale, her hand subtly covering a slight tremor. Was it just nerves or something else entirely?
I walked towards her, my heart pounding. What had Mark gotten us into this time?
And more importantly, what had Sophie seen that I wasn’t aware of?”