Usually we wroteI love you. Or silly things likeI want cookies.
I uncapped the permanent marker, brought the tip to her back.
“What’s that smell?” she asked, lifting her head from the pillow.
“Nothing,” I said, stroking her hair, settling her back down. She laid her head on the pillow, closed her eyes. Trusting me.
I started drawing.
“It feels funny,” she said.
“Do you know what I’m writing?” I asked, the way I did each time we played the game.
“Is it aW?” she asked.
“No,” I said, “guess again.” I worked quickly, drawing, hoping that writing the symbols in marker would be enough, that blood didn’t have to be spilled, pain inflicted, to make the magic work. The truth was, this didn’t feel magical at all. It felt desperate and silly. It felt like I was becoming everything I had always dreaded I might be—the crazy woman who went sneaking into her daughter’s room in the night to scribble nonsense on her back, terrifying her.
But I had to try, didn’t I? If there was even a slight chance that this might work…
“You’re not spelling anything at all,” she complained, pulling away. “You’re just scribbling.”
“Hold still, little mouse,” I said, pulling her back.
“No!” she shouted. “I don’t like it!”
“Shh, Olivia,” I said in my most soothing voice, stroking her hair. “I have to finish. I’m writing a whole secret message on your back.”
“Stop, Mommy! Please.”
The door flew open, and the overhead light flashed on.
“What are you doing, Alison?” Mark stared down at me, at the marker in my hand, at the drawings I’d done on Olivia’s back.
I blinked at him. “I’m…”
I’m saving our daughter.
“Get up,” he snarled, looking at me like I was a total stranger, someone who’d sneaked in uninvited. He looked at me with a fury I’d never seen. And I believed, in that moment, that he was capable of hurting me. That it was taking a great effort on his part to refrain from lashing out.
Olivia was crying now. When he sat on the bed, taking my place, she sprang into his arms, sobbing.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Little mouse, I—”
“Get out, Alison,” Mark ordered, eyes blazing.
I stood frozen.
“Now,” he ordered.
With my legs shaking, I left the room, ran into Izzy in the hall, the camera in her hand pointed directly at me. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “I was just trying—”
“What, Mom?”
“I thought it would help.”
We could both hear Olivia crying hard, taking gulping breaths.
