The next morning, I called Travis.
"Can you come over?"
"Sure."
He arrived ten minutes later.
He looked uncomfortable.
He stood near the doorway.
"What happened?"
I told him everything.
He listened without interrupting.
When I finished, he sighed.
"There's something you should know."
"What?"
"Ryan has been questioning Emma."
I stared at him.
"What do you mean?"
"He asks her what we talk about."
My stomach tightened.
"What else?"
"He asks whether I ever take her somewhere else."
"Do you?"
"No."
"Obviously."
"He asks if I ever tell her not to tell you things."
I felt sick.
"He actually asks her that?"
Travis nodded.
"Every few days."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I didn't want to make things worse."
"You should have told me."
"I know."
He looked down.
"She's seven. She shouldn't be in the middle of this."
I nodded.
He was right.
The problem wasn't just Ryan's distrust of Travis anymore.
The problem was that our daughter had become the battlefield.
I thanked Travis.
Then I walked back into the house.
Ryan was standing in the hallway.
He had heard everything.
"Is it true?"
He didn't answer.
"Ryan."
"I was worried."
"You were interrogating our daughter."
"I was asking questions."
"You were making her choose."
"I wanted to know if something was happening."
"Nothing was happening."
"I didn't know that."
"You could have trusted me."
He looked at me.
"I was afraid."
"Of what?"
His eyes filled with something I'd never seen there before.
Shame.