Signs – Part 1

I felt a pressure on my waist for a fraction of a second – just four fingers pressing gently against my blouse. It is a sensitive spot. I quickly turned around with a tiny shriek, to find no one there. My 22-month-old was at my feet, playing with plastic cups and steel tumblers; my husband, who I assumed had touched me, was still busy working in another part of our quiet apartment. I was in the middle of cooking dinner. I stopped, walked out of the kitchen to check if anyone else was around – I definitely did not imagine being touched, and this was unlike any muscle spasm I had ever experienced. My mild annoyance was instantly replaced by curiosity tinged with fear. I returned to the hot pan that I had left behind with sizzling onions; checked if they were translucent enough to add the grated ginger. My rational brain had pushed back the dread.

Then my mouth blurted out, “Nice one, Dad.”

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