Dark bruises covered her ribs and lower back. Some were old and fading. Others were fresh, swollen, and deep purple. The marks weren’t random injuries from a playground accident.
They were handprints.
Someone had grabbed my daughter hard enough to leave fingerprints in her skin.
For a second, pure rage exploded inside me. I wanted to destroy whoever had done this. But when I saw the fear in Chloe’s eyes, I realized she wasn’t watching for anger.
She was watching to see if I would believe her.
I forced myself to stay calm and knelt beside her.
“How long has this been happening?”
A tear slid down her cheek.
“Since February.”
Then she whispered the name.
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