In the living room, Portia and Dorian bombarded my daughter with frantic questions.
"Iris, is anyone at school picking on you?"
"Has any man been spending too much time around you?"
Terrified by their relentless interrogation, my daughter went pale, her head hung low, too scared to say a word.
Velvet, after anxiously ending a phone call, turned toward us, her voice sharp with fury.
“I’ve already got someone looking into this. No matter what, I will find the bastard who did this!"
Dorian, his face twisted with rage, slammed his fist into the wall, the sound reverberating through the room.
"If I find out who hurt my daughter, I swear I'll kill him!"
Tears welled up in Portia’s eyes as she gently cradled my daughter, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Iris, sweetheart... tell Grandma the truth—do you know who got you pregnant?"
My daughter, who had been sitting in silence with her head down, finally looked up.
Under everyone’s gaze, her eyes met mine.
She opened her mouth, as if to speak, but hesitated.
I stepped out of the kitchen, carrying a bowl of freshly made chicken soup.
Placing it in front of her, I said, “Drink the soup, take good care of the baby.”