Zostawiłam córkę z rodzicami i siostrą tylko na jeden dzień z powodu nieoczekiwanego wypadku w pracy. Kiedy wróciła do domu, w ogóle się nie odzywała. Zapytałam: „Kochanie, co się stało?”, ale łzy cicho spływały jej po twarzy. Potem zauważyłam maleńką plamę krwi pod jej ubraniem. Ogarnęła mnie panika. Pobiegłam z nią do szpitala – a to, co powiedział mi lekarz, prawie zatrzymało mi serce.

“Tired?” I frowned. “What time did she go to bed?”

“The usual time. It’s just that the children were playing until late.”

My father appeared from the living room. His usually mild face held an expression I couldn’t read. “Linda, you’re here. The presentation went well, I gather?”

“Yes, Dad.” I headed toward the stairs. “I’m going to see Sophia.”

I knocked on the guest room door. No answer. I opened it gently and found Sophia sitting on the bed, gazing out the window.

“Sophia? Mommy’s here to pick you up.”

She turned around slowly, but she didn’t come running. In her large brown eyes, there was something I had never seen before. A hollowness.

“What’s wrong, honey?” I approached her. “Did you have fun with Grandma?”

Sophia remained silent, her lips trembling slightly.

“Did you play with Aunt Heather and your cousins?”

I felt her body stiffen under my hand.

“I want to go home,” she finally said in a small voice.

“Of course. Let’s go home right now.”

Martha was waiting outside the door. “Leaving already? I prepared lunch.”

“Thanks, Mom, but we’re going home. Sophia seems tired.”

Martha looked at her granddaughter and reached out to touch her cheek, but Sophia shied away, hiding behind me. A flash of surprise appeared in Martha’s eyes.

“Sophia, aren’t you going to say goodbye to Grandma?”

The girl remained silent, staring at the floor.

“Sophia,” I prompted gently.

“Goodbye, Grandma. Goodbye, Grandpa,” she said faintly, not looking up.

As we drove away, I looked at her in the rearview mirror. “Are you really okay? Did something happen?”

No answer.

When we got home, I led her to the living room to change her clothes. She was expressionless, like a doll. While unbuttoning her blouse, I noticed something on the lining. Small brown stains.

Dried blood.

“What’s this?” I gasped, lifting the fabric. There were small traces of blood. “Sophia, did someone hurt you?”

Panic raced through me. “Tell me, please.”

Large tears flowed from her eyes, but she just shook her head.

I dialed my mother immediately. “Mom, there’s blood on Sophia’s clothes. What happened? Tell me honestly.”

Silence. Then Martha’s disturbed voice. “My, you’re being dramatic. She probably just fell. Children fall all the time.”

“Fell? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Because… I didn’t think it was anything serious.”

I looked at Sophia’s face, filled with unspeakable fear. Maternal instinct screamed that this was not a fall.

“We’ll talk later,” I said coldly and hung up.

I knelt before Sophia. “Honey, it’s Mommy’s job to protect you. Let’s go to the hospital now. It’ll be all right. I’ll be with you.”

The fear in her eyes intensified, but she gave a slight nod.

Chapter 3: The Diagnosis

At St. Mary’s Pediatric Emergency Center, Dr. Caroline Foster examined Sophia while I waited anxiously. The doctor’s office was warm, decorated with children’s drawings, but the air was heavy.

“Where’s Sophia?” I asked when Dr. Foster returned alone.

“She’s in the playroom with a nurse.” The doctor sat down and took a deep breath. “Ms. Morrison, your daughter shows signs of physical abuse.”

The words delivered a dull shock to my chest. “What?”

“There are multiple bruises on her arms and back. The blood on her clothes comes from a small cut on her back. This wound doesn’t appear accidental. It looks as if it was deliberately inflicted with something sharp.”

The color drained from my face. “Are you saying my family hurt her?”

“Legally, I’m obligated to report this to Child Protective Services. But first, I want you to know what Sophia told me. It took a lot of courage for her.”

I covered my face with trembling hands. “What happened?”

“According to Sophia, there was a dispute over toys with her cousins last night. A boy named Noah became aggressive and pushed her down. A girl named Ava joined in. They held her down.” The doctor paused. “They pinched and scratched her while saying things like, ‘Your mom is a failure’ and ‘It’s sad you don’t have a daddy.’”

Tears welled in my eyes. “That’s terrible.”

“Even more shocking,” Dr. Foster continued heavily, “your sister Heather apparently witnessed this bullying but didn’t stop it. Instead, she blamed Sophia, saying, ‘This wouldn’t have happened if you had been quiet.’”

I shook with rage.

“When Noah took her stuffed animal and began cutting it with scissors, Sophia tried to get it back. In the process, the scissors caught her back. Whether intentional or not, I can’t say.”

“Intentional or not, that’s abuse,” I whispered. “Why didn’t my parents stop it?”

“They were apparently in another room. And what concerns me most is that Heather told Sophia, ‘If you talk about this, your mom will be even sadder.’ Essentially silencing her.”

Something broke inside me. My daughter endured this alone to protect me.

“I’ll contact Child Protective Services,” Dr. Foster said firmly. “Action is needed to protect your child.”

I took a deep breath. “I want to see Sophia.”

In the playroom, Sophia was drawing. As I approached, she looked up, fear and hope warring in her eyes.

“Mommy?”

It was the first word she had spoken since morning. I knelt and embraced her. “Honey, thank you for telling everything. You were brave.”

“Are you angry?”

“I’m not angry at you at all. I’m angry at the people who hurt you. Mommy is always on your side. I’ll protect you. I promise.”

Sophia’s small body trembled, and finally, she began to cry aloud—a cry that mixed fear, sadness, and relief.