No.
He had been holding it when he entered.
But when my daughter took it from him, I remembered seeing him hesitate.
As though he didn’t want to give it to her.
I looked at the backpack.
There was a small zipper pocket on the front.
It was partially open.
A corner of pink paper was sticking out.
My daughter’s drawing paper.
I reached for it.
My husband immediately said, “Don’t.”
I froze.
He froze too.
The pediatrician looked at him.
“Why not?”
“It’s her private stuff.”
My husband said it too quickly.
I looked at my daughter.
“Is it okay if I check your backpack?”
She nodded.
My husband shook his head.
“You’re really going to search through her things now?”
I pulled the pink paper from the pocket.
It was folded several times.
I opened it.
At first, I didn’t understand what I was looking at.
