I found my daughter trembling in the laundry room with a red mark on her cheek. “Daddy… Please don’t make me apologize again,” she sobbed. My heart broke as I held her. Ten minutes later, while looking for ice, I found a hidden recording device in the washing machine that revealed…

laundry room in Boise, two years ago. I remembered the sheer, paralyzing terror in her wide brown eyes, and the heartbreaking question she had whispered through her tears.

Do I have to say sorry?

I smiled, pressing a long, warm kiss to the top of her head, pulling her closer to my heart.

I realized then that monsters rely entirely on our apologies to continue reading …