the blood from her forehead. My hands, usually rough from gardening, moved with the steady, surgical grace of a field medic. I checked her pupils. Concussion. I checked her ribs. Two broken.
“Who?” I asked. My voice was calm. Too calm.
“To continue the full story, click Yes.”Lily opened her good eye. It was filled with a terror that no child should ever feel.
“Mark,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “He… he came home drunk. He said I was useless. He said I was ugly. He threw me down the stairs, Dad. He laughed.”
She grabbed my wrist, her fingers digging into my skin. “He said if I told anyone, he’d kill you. He said you’re just a weak old man.”
I looked at the bruising on her neck. I looked at the fear in her eyes.
Something inside me clicked. It was a sound like a safety catch being
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