David and I were at the ragged end of lunch. I still had more soup to eat. He wanted me to strap his drum around his chest and march around the house with him. I compromised by letting him help me get the mail.

Some state agency on the return address. I didn’t really pay attention. I figured it was a survey or a reminder to get the kids shots. I was intrigued that the address was handwritten.

The letter was from a caseworker in child protective services. My stomach started to hurt. Someone at Rose’s old daycare had been accused of sexually molesting a child at the school, literally at the school. I had to sit down. If we had any questions or wanted to get our child tested blah blah blah. I called John.

You have to understand that we never loved this daycare. It vacillated from good enough to we have to get out of here. The problems? An administration that refused to let Rose bring food from home even though she refused to eat the food at school; constant staff turnover, and I mean every 3 months; a teacher who accused me of stealing her materials and didn’t apologize when she found them later; several teachers who enforced sexist stereotypes; dark and moldy. Ok, I’m painting it a bit grim; there was a lot of joy and love too. But even if with all the things that made us crazy, we never considered that she might be in danger.

I am 99% sure Rose was not molested. I’m sure she would have told us. I’m sure we would have seen some behavior changes. She is child who acts like the world is completely safe.

But I am not 100% sure. I took the first step of calling the caseworker to find out if Rose’s dates at the center overlapped with the accused. I haven’t heard back. If they did overlap, I’ll get her interviewed.

My take away message is the same as I had before I got this news: I need to trust my gut. When I feel a place is not right, I need to get out fast.