Chapter 3
Sarah arrived at the gas station twenty minutes later.
She pulled up beside my car and got out.
She looked tired.
She worked nights at the hospital, and I knew I had probably woken her up.
But when she saw my face, all sleep vanished.
"What happened?"
I opened the back door.
Rosie was still asleep.
Sarah leaned in.
She saw the bruise.
She saw the finger marks on Rosie's arms.
Her hand flew to her mouth.
"Oh my God."
She turned to me.
Her eyes were filled with horror.
And anger.
"Who did this?"
"Bethany," I said.
Sarah closed her eyes.
She took a deep breath.
When she opened them again, she was calm.
Nurses learn to stay calm in emergencies.
"Let's get her to my place," she said. "It's bigger. And they don't know where I live."
I nodded.
I carefully unstrapped Rosie from her car seat.
She stirred but didn't wake up.
She rested her head on my shoulder.
Sarah led the way to her car.
She opened the door for me.
I got in the back with Rosie.
Sarah drove.
Neither of us spoke.
The radio was off.
The only sound was Rosie's breathing.
We arrived at Sarah's apartment ten minutes later.
It was a small two-bedroom in a quiet neighborhood.
She had moved here after the divorce.
Six months ago.
We had split amicably.
Better apart than together, we had decided.
But we had always agreed on one thing.
Rosie came first.
Always.
Sarah unlocked the door and flipped on the lights.
The apartment was warm.
Clean.
Safe.
I carried Rosie to the spare bedroom and laid her on the bed.
I pulled the covers up to her chin.
She stirred again.
"Daddy?"
"I'm here, baby," I said. "Go back to sleep."
She smiled faintly and closed her eyes.
I stood there for a long time.
Watching her.
Sarah came in and stood beside me.
She didn't say anything.
She just placed her hand on my arm.
A small gesture.
But it meant everything.
We went to the kitchen.
Sarah made coffee.
I sat at the table.
My hands were still shaking.
"Tell me everything," Sarah said.
She sat across from me.
Her coffee mug was untouched.
I told her.
Everything.
The dinner.
Walking in.
Seeing Rosie's injuries.
Bethany's words.
The slap.
My mother screaming.
My father throwing the glass.
Sarah listened.
She didn't interrupt.
When I finished, she was quiet for a moment.
Then she stood up.
She walked to the counter and picked up her phone.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Calling the police," she said.
I froze.
The police.
I hadn't thought about that.
I had just wanted to get Rosie away.
To keep her safe.
But Sarah was right.
This wasn't just a family argument.
This was abuse.
Child abuse.
"Wait," I said.
Sarah turned to me.
"Mark, she hurt our daughter," she said. Her voice was firm. "Those bruises are evidence. We need to report this."
"I know," I said. "But... my family. They'll make this ugly. They'll lie. They'll say I hit her. They'll try to take Rosie."
Sarah came back to the table.
She sat down.
She looked me in the eye.
"Let them try," she said. "We have the truth. We have the bruises. And I will burn every single one of them to the ground before I let anyone take our daughter."
I believed her.
May you like
I nodded.
"Okay," I said. "Call them."
