Chapter 3 — The House Built on Fear
The hospital waiting room smelled of coffee and antiseptic.
Three endless hours later, a pediatric neurosurgeon finally walked toward us.
"Ava is awake."
My knees nearly gave out.
"She has a severe concussion and required several stitches, but the scans show no life-threatening bleeding."
Daniel buried his face in his hands.
I cried harder than I ever had.
When we entered her room, Ava reached out weakly.
"Mommy..."
"I'm here, sweetheart."
She touched the bandage on her head.
"Grandpa was mad."
My heart broke all over again.
"No one is ever allowed to make you feel unsafe again."
The next morning Detective Mitchell returned.
She placed several old photographs on the table.
"During our investigation," she said, "your older brother told us something."
She slid another picture forward.
It showed me at six years old.
A bruise covered my left arm.
I had completely forgotten the photograph existed.
Then another.
Nicole with a split lip.
Brandon wearing sunglasses indoors despite being only ten.
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My childhood hadn't been normal.
It had simply been hidden.
