Grace spoke slowly, as if afraid the words themselves might punish her, explaining how the pantry door had been locked again, how she had hidden crackers under her bed, how hunger had become something she planned around rather than complained about.
“She said I needed to learn discipline,” Grace murmured, staring at her hands. “She said I was spoiled.”
My vision blurred as she continued, her words breaking into uneven pieces that painted a picture I could no longer ignore, one of control disguised as care and punishment disguised as guidance.
“She put my hands in the sink,” Grace whispered. “The water was very hot. She told me it would make me better.”
I felt something inside me fracture completely.
“She said if I told you,” Grace added, her eyes finally meeting mine, “you would send me away because I was difficult.”
I took her face gently in my hands and said, “I am so sorry I did not see it. I will never let anyone hurt you again.”
When Lauren entered the room later, escorted by a police officer, she looked irritated rather than concerned, as if inconvenienced by circumstances beyond her control, and she smiled too quickly when she saw me.