I want to know what’s happening right now.”
“Fine.” My voice dropped. “Your father has been physically abusing our daughter for 3 months. She showed me the bruises. We’re leaving and I’m reporting it. Now move.”
The color drained from Clare’s face. For a second, something flashed in her eyes—recognition, maybe guilt.
“That’s not—you’re misunderstanding. Dad wouldn’t.”
“She told you last month. She said you told her she was exaggerating.”
Clare’s lips parted, then pressed together.
“That’s not—She was being dramatic. Kids get bruises from playing. Dad’s strict. Sure, but he’s not abusive. You’re overreacting.”
“I saw handprint-shaped bruises spread across her back and ribs from being grabbed again and again. That’s not playing.”
“Let me see.” Clare reached toward Lily, but I stepped in, guiding my daughter behind me.
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