“At the doctor,” I said.
A pause. “Why?”
“Sophie told me what happened.”
Silence.
Then, quickly: “She’s exaggerating.”
“I saw the bruise.”
Sleep Disorders
“You’re blowing this out of proportion.”
“No,” I said quietly. “I’m finally seeing it clearly.”
Another pause. Then softer, controlled: “Let’s talk in person.”
“We’re not meeting tonight,” I said. “And you’re not seeing her until it’s safe.”
Her tone snapped. “What did she say?”
That told me everything.
Not Is she okay?
Not I’m sorry.
Just: What did she say?
“She told the truth,” I said.
And I hung up.
The weeks that followed were messy and heavy.
Doctors. Social workers. Court hearings.
Sophie stayed with me.
Marina denied everything at first—then minimized it, then blamed stress, then blamed me for being away too much.
But the evidence didn’t change.
The fear in Sophie didn’t change.
