Lily’s soft skin was covered in bruises, blue, purple, and an ugly, fist-sized mark on her side.
Her tiny body trembled uncontrollably.
The doctor’s urgent voice cut through the chaos:
“Hook her up, now!”
Two agonizing hours crawled by as they worked to stabilize her.
Every second felt like a lifetime.
Regret and fury churned in my stomach, a storm growing stronger with each passing minute.
My mother sobbed beside me, her voice shaking with anger.
“How could you let this happen to your child?” she cried. “Look at her, Quincy! Look at what she’s been through!”
I had no words. My throat was too tight to speak.
Then, finally, Lily’s eyelashes fluttered. Her small, weak voice broke me all over again.
“Mommy… why does everyone say Lily is a kid Daddy doesn’t want?”
My heart clenched.
“But Lily has a daddy,” she whispered. Her lips trembled. “Why doesn’t Daddy protect Lily anymore?”
I pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, swallowing the ache in my chest.
“Mommy will always protect you,” I whispered. “You are my most precious treasure.”
I cupped her tiny face, my voice turning firm.
“As for Daddy? We don’t need him anymore.”
When I got back to the elementary school, the Family Day event was still in full swing.
Parents and kids sat together, drawing, laughing.
And then I saw them.
Samuel.
Sitting comfortably at a table, coloring like the perfect family man.
Leo snuggled up beside him.
Rachel smiling, snapping pictures, basking in her picture-perfect moment.
Meanwhile, my daughter was in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines.
Rage surged through me like wildfire.
Without hesitation, I stormed over,
And slapped Rachel across the face.
The sharp crack echoed through the hall.
Rachel staggered back, slamming into the edge of the table with a startled gasp.
Gasps filled the room.
