My five-year-old granddaughter Lila never calls me—so when her tiny voice whispered, “Mommy’s pretending not to be scared,” I knew something was wrong.She said Emma, my daughter, was in the bathroom. Then the call dropped.I texted, called—no answer. I panicked. Jumped in the car and sped across town,
heart pounding. The house was dark. Unlocked. Silent. I rushed in calling their names—nothing.Then I heard a scream.I burst into the bathroom, breath frozen.Emma stood over the toilet, wielding a mop. Lila pointed to the ceiling, wide-eyed. Spiders. Giant ones, apparently.I nearly collapsed with relief.Turns out,