Every time my teenage daughter came home from her father’s house, she ran straight to the bathroom and locked the door. I told myself it was just the divorce, until I found a torn piece of her favorite blouse near the drain and finally asked what she was trying to wash away.My teenage daughter always rushed to the bathroom after visiting her father’s house, and for three weeks, I told myself not to panic.Then I found a torn strip of her favorite blouse caught near the shower drain.It was light blue cotton with tiny embroidered daisies along the seam. A rusty-brown mark dried across one edge.I stood barefoot on the bathroom tile with tweezers in one hand and that scrap of fabric in the other, and my whole body went cold.Hannah and I had found it at a thrift store two months after the divorce became final. She’d held it up in front of a cloudy mirror and said, “It makes me look like a girl who has everything together.”

I bought it, even though my debit card begged me not to.Now part of it was in my palmpicked up my phone and called my ex-husband, Lloyd.He answered on the fourth ring, calm as anything. “Hey, Mindy. Everything okay?””No,” I said. “Everything isn’t okay.”There was a pause. “What happened?””You tell me.””Mindy, I don’t know what you mean.””Don’t do that,” I snapped. “Hannah came home from your house and ran straight to the shower again.””She’s fifteen. Teenagers shower. Why are you making this a big deal?””She walks into the house and locks the bathroom door before even saying hello, Lloyd.”He sighed. “Maybe she wanted privacy. Lord forbid she get any.””I found part of her blue blouse in the drain.”SilenceI looked at the rusty mark again, and my voice shook. “There’s a brown stain on it.””It’s not blood,” he said quickly.”So you know what it is?”silence.””It’s rust,” he said. “From the cabinet hinge in the guest bathroom. Hannah told me.”