Her arm was covered in bruises. Some yellow with age, some purple and fresh, deep enough to make my teeth clench. Finger marks. Belt lines. The kind of injuries that don’t come from accidents, only from repetition.
“Who did this to you?”
Her eyes filled immediately, but she still tried to hold back.
“Lidia.”
She cracked apart at the sound of her name.
“Damian,” she whispered. “He hits me. He’s been hitting me for years. And his mother helps him. His sister too. They treat me like I’m not even human.”
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My body went still.
Then she said the words that woke something old and vicious inside me.
“He hit Sofi too.”
I stared at her.
“Sofía?”
She nodded, crying openly now. “She’s three, Nay. He came home drunk. He lost money gambling. He slapped her. I tried to stop him and he locked me in the bathroom. I thought he was going to kill us both.”
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