That hurt too.
Children who feel safe ask questions.
Traumatized children obey instantly.
I stood just as Rebecca appeared at the top of the staircase wearing soft gray pajamas and reading glasses.
At first she smiled.
Then she saw Sophie crying.
Then she saw my face.
And something flickered across hers.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
Like she instantly understood exactly what Sophie had told me.
“What’s going on?” she asked carefully.
I kept my voice flat.
“Sophie says her back hurts.”
Rebecca crossed her arms immediately.
“She’s being dramatic.”
Sophie shrank behind me.
My pulse exploded.
“Dramatic?” I repeated quietly.
Rebecca rolled her eyes like an exhausted parent forced to repeat herself.
“She spilled juice yesterday, slipped, hit the hallway handle, and now she’s milking it because she knows you baby her whenever you come home.”
Every word sounded rehearsed.
Prepared.
Too smooth.
“She can barely move,” I said.
Rebecca’s expression hardened instantly.
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Undermining me.”
