My daughter, who was once terrified of even the smallest pain, didn’t shed a single tear. Instead, she looked at the sleeping dog, fearful but desperate. Slowly, she crawled over to the food bowl and began eating the spoiled scraps in it, gobbling them down with no regard for the filth.
I couldn’t help but think of Malissa, holding her chubby newborn son just moments ago. Hatred surged through my chest.
"Milford—how dare you?!"
My voice trembled uncontrollably as I called out, “Enid?”
My daughter froze, then slowly lifted her head to look at me. She stared for a long moment, dazed—until her eyes widened in disbelief.
“Mama? You’re back?”
The next second, her small figure broke down into tears. She cried out like she’d finally found someone to cling to after holding on for far too long.
“Mama, Aunt Malissa locked me in the dog cage. She didn’t give me any food. Daddy didn’t do anything about it! I was so scared. The big dog bites real hard, it hurts so bad. Mama, please get me out…”
The word “Mama,” spoken with such raw pain and trust, shattered me from the inside. But I didn’t have time to cry—not with that hunting dog now awake, glaring at Enid like she was prey.