Backed by the murmured encouragement of the adults around him, the little boy broke free from his parents' hold and rushed toward me. Before I could react, he grabbed my hand and sank his teeth into it. Hard. The pain shot through me instantly, sharp and raw, and he didn't let go.
"Hey—" someone gasped, but no one stepped in.
The more gently Adriana crouched beside him, coaxing him in a soft, soothing voice, the deeper his teeth seemed to press into my skin, as if her words only fueled his stubbornness. Her tone was all concern, all patience, the picture of kindness.
"Sweetheart, let go… okay? You're scaring me," she murmured, reaching out but never quite pulling him away.
I stood there, frozen.
I couldn't exactly push a child off me. Couldn't raise my voice. Couldn't defend myself without looking like the villain they already believed I was.
So I swallowed everything.
Swallowed the pain. Swallowed the humiliation.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly, forcing the words out as evenly as I could. "I'm sorry, okay?"
The boy finally loosened his grip, stepping back, still sniffling. My hand throbbed where his teeth had broken the skin, a dull, pulsing ache that quickly turned wet.