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<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\nThe evidence from Sophie\u2019s uniform, the security footage showing him leading her toward the side bathroom, and the testimonies of other children painted a clear, damning picture. He received a lengthy prison sentence. The school district settled quietly with the affected families, implemented stricter protocols, and the after-school area now has two staff members on duty at all times with visible cameras.
\nBut justice, even when it arrives, doesn\u2019t erase the scar.
\nSophie still has hard days. Some nights she wakes up convinced she smells \u201cdirty\u201d again, even after a normal day of school and play. On those nights we sit together in the bathroom while she takes a shower-not because she has to, but because she chooses to. I wait outside the door, humming the silly songs we used to sing when she was little. She knows now that the door doesn\u2019t have to be locked. She knows I\u2019m there.<\/p>\n
Therapy helped her find words for the shame he tried to plant inside her. She learned that his words were weapons, not truths. One session, she drew a new picture: herself standing in an open field, no locked doors, with me beside her holding a big key. She titled it \u201cFree.\u201d I framed that one too.
\nI changed as well. The knot in my stomach never fully disappeared, but it became something useful \u2013 sharper instincts, quicker questions, less willingness to accept easy answers. I started volunteering with a local child safety organization, speaking to parent groups about noticing the quiet changes: the sudden obsession with cleanliness, the rehearsed phrases, the emotional distance. I always end with the same line:<\/p>\n
\u201cTrust your unease. A child\u2019s silence can be louder than you think.\u201d
\nSophie is healing. She laughs more freely now. She leaves her backpack by the door and sometimes even forgets to head straight for the bath. She tracks mud into the house again like a normal kid. And when she does rush to clean up after soccer practice, I no longer feel that old dread. I just call out, \u201cDon\u2019t use all the hot water, messy gir!!\u201d<\/p>\n
One evening, as we were folding laundry together, she paused over her school uniform skirt-the new one, without any torn pieces or hidden stains.
\n\u201cMom?\u201d she asked softly.
\n\u201cYeah, baby?\u201d
\n\u201cI\u2019m really glad you cleaned the drain that day.\u201d
\nI set the shirt down and looked at her. \u201cMe too.\u201d
\nShe nodded once, satisfied, and went back to folding. In that small moment, I saw it: the beginning of trust returning, the slow rebuilding of safety in her own skin.
\nThe house still has that gray ring sometimes in the tub. I leave it now and then as a reminder. Not of fear, but of vigilance. Of how love sometimes means digging through the mess instead of pretending it isn\u2019t there.
\nAnd if you\u2019re a parent reading this -keep noticing. Keep asking the gentle questions. Keep being the adult who refuses to look away.
\nBecause sometimes, the thing that saves a child is as simple, and as hard, as cleaning out a drain.<\/p>\n
PART 1 \u2014 The First Night Sophie Slept With the Lights On<\/h1>\n
Because sometimes, the thing that saves a child is as simple, and as hard, as cleaning out a drain.
\nBut surviving something terrible?
\nThat was harder.
\nThree weeks after Mr. Keaton\u2019s arrest, our house looked normal again from the outside.
\nThe dishes still piled beside the sink.
\nThe dog still barked at squirrels through the front window.
\nEvery morning, Sophie still tied her shoelaces crooked and forgot where she left her backpack.
\nBut fear had moved into the quiet spaces of our lives.
\nAnd once fear settles into a home, it doesn\u2019t leave all at once.
\nIt lingers.
\nSometimes in silence.
\nSometimes in the way a child suddenly checks a lock twice before bed.
\nSometimes in the way a mother wakes up at every sound in the hallway.
\nThe first thing I noticed was the lights.
\nSophie stopped turning them off.
\nNot intentionally.
\nShe just\u2026 couldn\u2019t.<\/p>\n
The bathroom light stayed glowing under the door after she brushed her teeth.<\/p>\n
Her bedroom lamp stayed on until midnight.<\/p>\n
Even the hallway light outside her room burned all night long.<\/p>\n
The electric bill climbed, but I never mentioned it.<\/p>\n
Because I understood.<\/p>\n
Darkness had become something different to her now.<\/p>\n
One Thursday night, I tucked her into bed and kissed her forehead softly.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou okay, baby?\u201d<\/p>\n
She nodded too quickly.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m fine.\u201d<\/p>\n
That word again.<\/p>\n
Fine.<\/p>\n
Children use that word when they don\u2019t have language big enough for what they actually feel.<\/p>\n
I smoothed her blanket gently.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou know you can always tell me if something\u2019s wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n
She looked at the wall instead of me.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
But her voice sounded small.<\/p>\n
Fragile.<\/p>\n
Like someone trying very hard not to break apart in front of another person.<\/p>\n
I stayed beside her a little longer than usual.<\/p>\n
When I finally stood to leave, Sophie\u2019s fingers wrapped suddenly around my wrist.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom?\u201d<\/p>\n
I turned back immediately.<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah?\u201d<\/p>\n
Her eyes flicked toward the dark hallway behind me.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan you leave the door open tonight?\u201d<\/p>\n
The question shattered something inside me.<\/p>\n
Not because it was dramatic.<\/p>\n
Because it was polite.<\/p>\n
Careful.<\/p>\n
Like she was afraid she was asking for too much.<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course,\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n
I left the door open wide.<\/p>\n
The hallway light stretched softly across her carpet.<\/p>\n
Sophie finally relaxed against the pillow.<\/p>\n
But I noticed something else before I walked away.<\/p>\n
She wasn\u2019t watching me anymore.<\/p>\n
She was watching the doorway.<\/p>\n
Making sure she could still see outside.<\/p>\n
Making sure nobody was standing there.<\/p>\n
That night, I barely slept.<\/p>\n
Every sound pulled me awake.<\/p>\n
The refrigerator humming.<\/p>\n
Pipes shifting.<\/p>\n
Branches scratching softly against the window.<\/p>\n
At 2:13 a.m., I heard footsteps.<\/p>\n
Small ones.<\/p>\n
Then a whisper.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom?\u201d<\/p>\n
I sat up instantly.<\/p>\n
Sophie stood in the hallway clutching her blanket tightly against her chest.<\/p>\n
Her face looked pale under the dim light.<\/p>\n
\u201cI had the dream again,\u201d she whispered.<\/p>\n
I pulled back the blanket immediately.<\/p>\n
\u201cCome here.\u201d<\/p>\n
She climbed into bed beside me without another word.<\/p>\n
The moment she settled against my shoulder, I felt it.<\/p>\n
She was trembling.<\/p>\n
Not violently.<\/p>\n
Not dramatically.<\/p>\n
Just tiny shakes moving through her body like fear still hadn\u2019t realized it was over.<\/p>\n
I wrapped my arms around her carefully.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re safe,\u201d I whispered into her hair.<\/p>\n
For a while, neither of us spoke.<\/p>\n
Then Sophie\u2019s voice cracked softly in the dark.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe was there again.\u201d<\/p>\n
My throat tightened painfully.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe dream?\u201d<\/p>\n
She nodded against my shoulder.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat happened?\u201d<\/p>\n
Sophie swallowed hard.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe kept saying I was dirty.\u201d<\/p>\n
I closed my eyes.<\/p>\n
Even after arrest.<\/p>\n
Even after police.<\/p>\n
Even after therapy had started.<\/p>\n
That man\u2019s voice was still living inside my daughter\u2019s head.<\/p>\n
And that was the part nobody prepares you for.<\/p>\n
The danger doesn\u2019t always end when the person disappears.<\/p>\n
Sometimes it stays behind inside the child.<\/p>\n
Sophie\u2019s fingers twisted tightly into my pajama sleeve.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, baby?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat if he comes back someday?\u201d<\/p>\n
The question hit me so hard I couldn\u2019t breathe for a second.<\/p>\n
Because children believe parents can promise absolute safety.<\/p>\n
They think we can build walls tall enough to keep evil outside forever.<\/p>\n
And the truth is\u2026<\/p>\n
sometimes we\u2019re just human beings standing in doorways trying our best to block the dark.<\/p>\n
I stroked her hair slowly.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe can\u2019t hurt you anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut how do you know?\u201d<\/p>\n
Tears burned behind my eyes.<\/p>\n
Because I didn\u2019t know.<\/p>\n
Not completely.<\/p>\n
No parent ever really does.<\/p>\n
But I knew one thing with absolute certainty.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo matter what happens,\u201d I whispered, \u201cyou will never face it alone again.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sophie finally stopped shaking sometime near dawn.<\/p>\n
She fell asleep curled beside me, one small hand still gripping my sleeve even in her dreams.<\/p>\n
And I stayed awake watching the hallway light spill across the room\u2026<\/p>\n
understanding for the first time that healing doesn\u2019t begin when danger ends.<\/p>\n
Healing begins the moment a child realizes someone will stay beside them through the fear.<\/p>\n
PART 2 \u2014 The Bathroom Door Stayed Open<\/h1>\n
The next morning, Sophie acted like nothing had happened.<\/p>\n
That scared me almost as much as the nightmares.<\/p>\n
She came downstairs wearing mismatched socks, rubbing sleep from her eyes while asking if we still had blueberry waffles in the freezer.<\/p>\n
Normal.<\/p>\n
Almost painfully normal.<\/p>\n
I stood at the stove pretending not to watch her too closely.<\/p>\n
Trauma makes parents do that.<\/p>\n
You start studying every expression like it contains hidden meaning.<\/p>\n
Every silence feels loaded.<\/p>\n
Every laugh makes you wonder if it\u2019s real.<\/p>\n
Sophie climbed onto a kitchen stool and quietly poured syrup onto her plate.<\/p>\n
Then she glanced toward the hallway.<\/p>\n
Toward the bathroom.<\/p>\n
Just one quick look.<\/p>\n
But I noticed.<\/p>\n
Because now I noticed everything.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou okay, baby?\u201d I asked gently.<\/p>\n
She nodded immediately.<\/p>\n
\u201cYep.\u201d<\/p>\n
That word again.<\/p>\n
Yep.<\/p>\n
Short.<\/p>\n
Fast.<\/p>\n
Safe.<\/p>\n
The kind of answer kids use when they don\u2019t want adults digging deeper.<\/p>\n
I forced myself not to push.<\/p>\n
Therapy had already taught me something important:<\/p>\n
If a frightened child feels cornered, they retreat.<\/p>\n
Safety grows slowly.<\/p>\n
Like trust.<\/p>\n
Like healing.<\/p>\n
So instead, I smiled softly.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, don\u2019t forget you have therapy after school today.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her shoulders tightened almost invisibly.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
The room fell quiet after that.<\/p>\n
Not awkward.<\/p>\n
Just careful.<\/p>\n
Like both of us were learning how to live inside a new version of our lives.<\/p>\n
\n
After school, Sophie didn\u2019t run to the bathroom immediately.<\/p>\n
She stopped halfway down the hallway instead.<\/p>\n
Just stood there.<\/p>\n
Thinking.<\/p>\n
Watching the bathroom door.<\/p>\n
I tried not to react.<\/p>\n
Tried not to let hope show too quickly on my face.<\/p>\n
Finally, Sophie looked back at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan I have a snack first?\u201d<\/p>\n
The question nearly broke my heart.<\/p>\n
Because it sounded so ordinary.<\/p>\n
So childlike.<\/p>\n
So normal.<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course,\u201d I said quickly. \u201cI made grilled cheese.\u201d<\/p>\n
She smiled faintly.<\/p>\n
A real smile this time.<\/p>\n
Small, but real.<\/p>\n
And for the first time in months, she sat at the kitchen table before taking a bath.<\/p>\n
One tiny change.<\/p>\n
One enormous victory.<\/p>\n
\n
Therapy was in a small office above a bookstore downtown.<\/p>\n
Warm yellow lamps.<\/p>\n
Soft chairs.<\/p>\n
Shelves filled with puzzles and stuffed animals and art supplies.<\/p>\n
Dr. Evelyn Carter believed children talked easier when rooms didn\u2019t feel clinical.<\/p>\n
Sophie liked her immediately.<\/p>\n
That mattered.<\/p>\n
While Sophie worked on a drawing activity inside the office, Dr. Carter stepped into the hallway with me.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow has she been sleeping?\u201d she asked softly.<\/p>\n
\u201cNot well,\u201d I admitted.<\/p>\n
\u201cNightmares?\u201d<\/p>\n
I nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cAlmost every night.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dr. Carter wrote something down gently.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s common.\u201d<\/p>\n
I swallowed.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe keeps asking if he\u2019ll come back.\u201d<\/p>\n
The therapist looked at me carefully.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe\u2019s trying to understand whether the world is safe again.\u201d<\/p>\n
That sentence sat heavily in my chest.<\/p>\n
\u201cWill it ever feel safe to her again?\u201d<\/p>\n
Dr. Carter paused before answering.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d she said quietly.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut safety after trauma looks different.\u201d<\/p>\n
I frowned slightly.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe may become more aware than other children. More cautious. More sensitive to certain situations.\u201d<\/p>\n
The therapist\u2019s expression softened.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut awareness isn\u2019t weakness.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked down at my hands.<\/p>\n
\u201cI keep thinking I should\u2019ve noticed sooner.\u201d<\/p>\n
There it was.<\/p>\n
The guilt.<\/p>\n
The thing sitting inside me every waking hour.<\/p>\n
Dr. Carter\u2019s voice became gentler.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou noticed when it mattered.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut she went through it alone.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d Dr. Carter corrected softly. \u201cShe survived it until she felt safe enough for someone to help.\u201d<\/p>\n
That distinction hit me hard.<\/p>\n
Because maybe Sophie hadn\u2019t stayed silent because I failed.<\/p>\n
Maybe she stayed silent because fear convinced her silence was survival.<\/p>\n
\n
When we got home that evening, Sophie headed toward the bathroom again.<\/p>\n
My chest tightened automatically.<\/p>\n
But then something happened.<\/p>\n
She stopped at the doorway.<\/p>\n
Looked at the lock.<\/p>\n
And quietly said:<\/p>\n
\u201cMom?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCan I leave the door open a little?\u201d<\/p>\n
I nearly cried right there in the hallway.<\/p>\n
Instead, I smiled carefully.<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course you can.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sophie pushed the bathroom door halfway closed instead of locking it completely.<\/p>\n
Steam drifted softly into the hallway while water ran.<\/p>\n
And for the first time since everything happened\u2026<\/p>\n
the sound of running water didn\u2019t feel like panic.<\/p>\n
It felt like trust trying to come back.<\/p>\n
Slowly.<\/p>\n
Carefully.<\/p>\n
But coming back all the same.<\/p>\n
That night, before bed, Sophie stood in the hallway holding her toothbrush.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah, baby?\u201d<\/p>\n
She hesitated.<\/p>\n
Then asked quietly:<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you think normal people ever stop feeling scared?\u201d<\/p>\n
I leaned against the bathroom doorway for a moment before answering.<\/p>\n
\u201cI think brave people learn how to keep living even while they\u2019re scared.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sophie considered that seriously.<\/p>\n
Then nodded once.<\/p>\n
Like she was storing the answer somewhere important inside herself.<\/p>\n
And later that night, when I passed the bathroom\u2026<\/p>\n
I noticed something small.<\/p>\n
The light was off.<\/p>\n
Not because I turned it off.<\/p>\n
Because Sophie did.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
PART 3 \u2014 The First Time She Refused School<\/h1>\n
The first real setback happened on a Monday.<\/p>\n
Of course it did.<\/p>\n
Bad mornings always seem to choose Mondays.<\/p>\n
I woke up early to make Sophie\u2019s lunch\u2014turkey sandwich, apple slices, the tiny chocolate cookies she liked pretending she was \u201ctoo old\u201d for but still ate first every single day.<\/p>\n
By 7:10 a.m., the kitchen smelled like toast and coffee.<\/p>\n
By 7:12, I knew something was wrong.<\/p>\n
Sophie was dressed for school.<\/p>\n
Shoes on.<\/p>\n
Backpack zipped.<\/p>\n
But she stood frozen near the front door staring at the floor like she\u2019d forgotten how to move.<\/p>\n
\u201cSophie?\u201d I said gently.<\/p>\n
No answer.<\/p>\n
I walked closer.<\/p>\n
\u201cBaby?\u201d<\/p>\n
Her breathing sounded strange.<\/p>\n
Too fast.<\/p>\n
Too shallow.<\/p>\n
The moment I touched her shoulder, she flinched hard enough to make my stomach drop.<\/p>\n
Then came the words.<\/p>\n
\u201cI can\u2019t go.\u201d<\/p>\n
Quiet.<\/p>\n
Terrified.<\/p>\n
Final.<\/p>\n
I crouched beside her immediately.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat happened?\u201d<\/p>\n
Tears filled her eyes so quickly it looked painful.<\/p>\n
\u201cI can\u2019t go back there.\u201d<\/p>\n
My chest tightened.<\/p>\n
\u201cTo school?\u201d<\/p>\n
She nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cI tried,\u201d she whispered. \u201cI really tried.\u201d<\/p>\n
And suddenly I understood.<\/p>\n
This wasn\u2019t rebellion.<\/p>\n
This wasn\u2019t a child faking sick.<\/p>\n
This was fear hitting her body faster than her mind could control it.<\/p>\n
A panic attack.<\/p>\n
At ten years old.<\/p>\n
I slowly guided her to the couch while she struggled to breathe evenly.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re okay,\u201d I whispered softly. \u201cJust breathe with me.\u201d<\/p>\n
She buried her face against my shoulder.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t want people looking at me.\u201d<\/p>\n
That sentence hurt more than I expected.<\/p>\n
Because shame changes children.<\/p>\n
It teaches them visibility is dangerous.<\/p>\n
I stroked her hair carefully.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid someone say something?\u201d<\/p>\n
She hesitated too long.<\/p>\n
Then nodded.<\/p>\n
My stomach turned cold.<\/p>\n
\n
It happened the previous Friday.<\/p>\n
A boy in her class had asked why she kept leaving school early for counseling sessions.<\/p>\n
Another girl whispered:<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s the girl from the news.\u201d<\/p>\n
Not cruel exactly.<\/p>\n
But curious.<\/p>\n
Children often don\u2019t understand the weight of what they repeat.<\/p>\n
Sophie looked down at her hands while explaining.<\/p>\n
\u201cThey weren\u2019t mean,\u201d she whispered quickly.<\/p>\n
That broke me even more.<\/p>\n
Because children who experience trauma often defend other people before themselves.<\/p>\n
I lifted her chin gently.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t have to protect everyone else\u2019s intentions, baby.\u201d<\/p>\n
Tears slipped down her cheeks.<\/p>\n
\u201cI just want things to go back to normal.\u201d<\/p>\n
There it was.<\/p>\n
The impossible wish every hurting child carries.<\/p>\n
Normal.<\/p>\n
As if trauma is a door life eventually walks backward through.<\/p>\n
I held her tightly.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
And I did know.<\/p>\n
Because secretly, I wanted that too.<\/p>\n
\n
By 8:00 a.m., I\u2019d already called the school.<\/p>\n
Principal Morris answered personally this time.<\/p>\n
The exhaustion in her voice had deepened over the past month.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m so sorry,\u201d she said after I explained.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe\u2019s having a panic response,\u201d Dr. Carter later confirmed over the phone.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat doesn\u2019t mean she\u2019s regressing. It means her body finally feels safe enough to react.\u201d<\/p>\n
I sat at the kitchen table gripping my coffee mug tightly.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat sounds backwards.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt feels backwards,\u201d the therapist agreed gently. \u201cBut many children stay emotionally numb during survival. The feelings often come later.\u201d<\/p>\n
After survival.<\/p>\n
After safety.<\/p>\n
After the body stops running.<\/p>\n
That truth haunted me all day.<\/p>\n
\n
Around noon, I found Sophie sitting cross-legged on her bedroom floor surrounded by crayons and paper.<\/p>\n
She didn\u2019t notice me immediately.<\/p>\n
She was drawing carefully.<\/p>\n
Slowly.<\/p>\n
I glanced down at the page.<\/p>\n
A school hallway.<\/p>\n
Long.<\/p>\n
Empty.<\/p>\n
Every classroom door closed.<\/p>\n
And at the far end\u2026<\/p>\n
a tiny little girl standing alone.<\/p>\n
My throat tightened painfully.<\/p>\n
\u201cSophie?\u201d<\/p>\n
She looked up quickly.<\/p>\n
Like she\u2019d been caught doing something wrong.<\/p>\n
I sat beside her quietly.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s beautiful.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s not supposed to be.\u201d<\/p>\n
I studied the drawing again.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt feels lonely.\u201d<\/p>\n
She nodded once.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s what school feels like now.\u201d<\/p>\n
The honesty in her voice nearly crushed me.<\/p>\n
I wrapped an arm around her shoulders gently.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou know none of this was your fault, right?\u201d<\/p>\n
Sophie stared at the drawing for a long moment.<\/p>\n
Then asked something so quietly I almost missed it.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut what if people always think about it when they see me?\u201d<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t answer immediately.<\/p>\n
Because I knew what she was really asking.<\/p>\n
Will I ever just be Sophie again?<\/p>\n
Not the girl from the news.<\/p>\n
Not the girl from counseling.<\/p>\n
Not the girl something bad happened to.<\/p>\n
Just Sophie.<\/p>\n
I swallowed hard.<\/p>\n
Then answered honestly.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe right people will see all of you.\u201d<\/p>\n
She leaned against me silently after that.<\/p>\n
And for a while, we just sat there on the bedroom floor together beside a drawing of an empty hallway neither of us quite knew how to walk through yet.<\/p>\n
That evening, Sophie finally asked the question I think she\u2019d been carrying for weeks.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf I go back tomorrow\u2026 will you stay until the bell rings?\u201d<\/p>\n
I smiled immediately.<\/p>\n
\u201cBaby, I\u2019ll stay as long as you need.\u201d<\/p>\n
She nodded slowly.<\/p>\n
Then whispered:<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay.\u201d<\/p>\n
Not healed.<\/p>\n
Not fixed.<\/p>\n
But trying.<\/p>\n
And sometimes trying is the bravest thing a child can do\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026.<\/p>\n