The preschool called while I was at the doctor’s to tell me our daughter had learned about lying. In the morning, one of her friends lied to a teacher to get her in trouble. She cried and cried. She didn’t understand why someone would do such a thing. Then in the afternoon she stole two pieces of chalk from the friend in question and buried them in the sand. The teacher asked if she knew where the chalk was, and she shrugged innocently. They offered her a few chances to come clean. They said she could explain it away as a joke. She was adamant: no chalk here. So the teacher dug it up and told her how disappointing this all was. Didn’t she remember how sad she was when her friend had lied about her? No, she said. Don’t we treat other people the way we want to be treated? Sure, she said, and I did.

My ex and I exchanged passive-aggressive texts as to whose genes had enabled our child to go from innocence to sociopathy in the span of five hours, and I went straight from my appointment to pick the kid up. She ran into my arms and I made a great show of hoisting her over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes to carry her and her bags out to the car. I watched her buckle her own seatbelt as I rubbed my back and said I’d heard she’d been lying. What’s lying, she asked. Not telling the truth, I said. Oh, she said, and began humming the theme from Bluey.

You know, lying hurts people’s feelings, I said, as we drove back to my apartment. And it can stop you from getting help. People don’t believe you once you’ve lied to them, even if you then start telling them the truth. Can you turn up the music, she asked. I want to talk to you first, I said. It’s not kind to lie to people. We don’t do that in our family. OK? She stayed silent. I glanced up at the rear-view mirror to see her bopping quietly to herself as she stared out the window. Hey, I said. Are you listening? It’s not kind to ignore Dad, either.

My place was clean, at least by my standards, and I’d draped her bed in her favorite rainbow comforter to make up for the sparse decorations otherwise. We settled in for pizza and milk together on the couch. You know, I said, once I’d taken my pills, Mom loves you. Dad loves you. We don’t want you to get hurt, or hurt other people. But that’s what lying does. Do you understand? She put her slice down and cocked her head at me. OK, dude, she said.

I threw up my hands in exasperation just as my phone buzzed on my lap. I swiped the test results notification and began reading as she pulled the remote out from between the cushions. Can you help me with this, please, Dad, she asked. What are you looking at, anyway? I closed the file full of angry red numbers and put my arm around her. Nothing, kiddo, I said. Don’t worry about it.