Instinctively, Aaron reached for her, wanting nothing more than to draw her close. But the instant his hand grazed her shoulder, Sophie sucked in a sharp breath and pulled away.
“Please—don’t,” she whispered. “It hurts.”
He dropped his hand at once. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking despite himself. “I didn’t mean to. Just tell me what happened.”
Sophie’s gaze flicked toward the hallway, eyes darting to the empty space beyond the bedroom door, her breathing shallow. After a long pause, she spoke. “She got angry,” she said. “I spilled juice. She said I did it on purpose. She shoved me into the closet. My back hit the handle. I couldn’t breathe. I thought I was going to disappear.”
It felt as though the breath had been punched from Aaron’s lungs.
“Did she take you to see a doctor?” he asked, even as he already feared the answer.
Sophie shook her head. “She wrapped it and said it would heal. She said doctors ask too many questions. She told me not to touch it—and not to tell anyone.”
He swallowed, throat tight. “Can I look at it, Sophie?”
Tears welled in her eyes, but she gave a small nod. Moving slowly and with great care, she turned around and lifted the back of her shirt. The bandage underneath was old and uneven, darkened in spots. The skin around it was swollen and bruised, and a faint smell in the air confirmed Aaron’s fear before his thoughts could fully form.
His knees nearly gave out, and he grabbed the edge of the bed to steady himself.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured. “This isn’t okay. We’re getting help—right now.”
