Imagine your daughter asking you about Sam’s scar
You turned around to see Katie standing awkwardly in the kitchen doorway. You smiled at your daughter, taking the pan from the hob and turning it off.
“What’s up, sweetie?” you questioned, nodding her over.
She walked in, worrying her lower lip between her teeth.
You crouched to her height, frowning softly.
“Sweetie?” you repeated. “Is everything okay?”
When she was close enough, you rested your hands on her little hips, searching her expression for answers.
“Daddy’s done in the shower,” she told you, and you nodded.
You waited, sure that she was going to continue.
She took a deep breath, holding it in for a second before letting it out.
“Mommy, why does Daddy have a scar on his tummy?”