She had been trying to create a “different reason” for the neck pain.
Not because she wanted attention.
Because she wanted camouflage.
I stood up, and something in me shifted from shock to action.
“Jennifer,” I said, voice steady now, “where’s the nearest police station?”
“Three blocks,” she said.
“Emma,” I said, “put your coat on. We’re going right now.”
She panicked. “But he’ll—”
“He won’t,” I said. “Not anymore.”
We walked into daylight like the world hadn’t changed.
But it had.
And I knew one thing: if we went home first, we’d give him time to rewrite the story.
So we didn’t go home.
We went to the police station.
On the next page: what a child-abuse specialist asked first—and the piece of evidence that made the case move fast. ⬇️⬇️⬇️
