Her breathing was shallow. A faint sound escaped her lips, but she didn’t wake.
A dark bruise spread across her cheek—too harsh to be an accident.
Panic flooded me. I grabbed my phone—then stopped when I heard footsteps.
Jennifer appeared in the doorway, calm, almost indifferent, holding a dish towel as if nothing was wrong.
“Oh,” she said casually. “You’re home early.”
“What happened?” I demanded. “What did you do?”
She shrugged.
“She was acting out. I disciplined her. She’ll be fine.”
I stared at her, waiting for any sign of concern.
There was none.
“What did you do?” I asked again, my voice tight.
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