“I’m scared they’ll come back,” she whispered.
“They will not get another chance to do this to you.”
I didn’t know yet how far Patricia’s cruelty extended.
I didn’t know what was hidden in her bedroom.
But I knew one thing.
The people who had treated my daughter like a servant were about to discover that the man who paid their bills was no longer willing to believe their lies.
And when I finally uncovered the secret Patricia had been hiding, I would understand that the bruises on Sofia’s arms were only the beginning.
By seven that morning, I had made several decisions.
First, Sofia would not spend another night alone in that house.
Second, I would not leave her with Patricia, even if my wife returned crying, apologizing, and promising that everything had been misunderstood.
Third, I needed to establish exactly what had happened before anyone had the opportunity to destroy evidence or pressure my daughter into changing her story.
