"These are all soft tissue contusions. She also has a mild concussion."
"What kind of parenting is this? The child was beaten this badly before anyone brought her in?"
Shame burned through me. All I could do was apologize.
Looking at the bandages wrapped around Irene's small body, the hatred inside me grew.
The next morning, my phone rang again.
It was the homeroom teacher.
Her tone was curt:
"Ms. Fox, you need to bring Irene to the school immediately."
"Blanche has reported that Irene stole a valuable item from her. We need you here to sort this out."
Stealing?
How bold—filing a complaint before I could.
I took Irene to the school.
The moment we stepped into the office, I saw Blanche lounging on the sofa, surrounded by several teachers fussing over her like she was royalty.
She clutched a tissue in her hand, eyes red-rimmed, playing the victim for all she was worth.
Vincent was there too, standing beside Blanche, speaking to the homeroom teacher with a grave expression.
The moment we walked in, Blanche flinched and ducked behind Vincent.
"Daddy... I'm scared..."
Vincent immediately stepped in front of her like a guard dog, shooting me a vicious glare.