“No, baby. None of this is your fault,” I murmured, my voice thick with tears. “You’re the best thing in my life. The kindest, bravest little girl I’ve ever known.”
“Sweetheart,” I kissed the top of her head and whispered, “You don't need that kind of father. Not anymore.”
I carried Enid back to the guest room and asked the old butler to call a private doctor. He came quickly and administered a rabies shot.
From Enid, I finally learned the truth about the past year.
Milford had poured all his attention into Malissa and her unborn child, completely ignoring his own daughter. Malissa, on the other hand, had tormented Enid in secret—and sometimes even right under his nose. And every time Enid tried to tell her father the truth, Malissa would twist it, accuse her of lying and Milford would believe her without question.
It was also them—Milford and Malissa—who told Enid I had been killed by “bad people.”
Enid cried herself to sleep night after night, clutching a wooden tablet with my name carved into it like it was all she had left. She even let the dog bite her, just so it wouldn’t damage my memorial.