“I… I tripped,” she said, forcing a weak laugh.
I studied her. The swelling. The tension in her hands.
“Isabella. Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m okay.”
I pulled up her sleeve.
And everything inside me went still.
Bruises layered over bruises. Old ones fading. New ones still dark and swollen. Clear signs of repeated harm.
“Who did this?” I asked quietly.
She shook her head, tears already falling.
“I can’t…”
“Who?”
She broke.
“Marcus,” she whispered. “He hits me. He’s been doing it for years. And his mom… his sister… they treat me like I’m nothing. Like I belong to them. And… he hurt Ava too.”
I froze.
“Ava?”
“She’s three, Vanessa… he came home drunk… lost money gambling… and he slapped her. I tried to stop him, and he locked me in the bathroom. I thought… I thought he was going to kill me.”
Everything narrowed.
The room. The voices. The world.
All I could see was my sister—broken—and a little girl growing up in fear.
I stood slowly.
“You didn’t come here to visit me,” I said.
She blinked. “What?”
“You came for help.”
Her face went pale.
“You’re staying here,” I continued. “I’m leaving.”
“You can’t,” she said immediately. “They’ll find out. You don’t understand the world anymore—”