I pulled Lily back slightly, my heart beating frantically as I examined her arm.
David: Sweetheart, look at me. What happened here?
Lily: It hurts, Daddy. It hurts real bad.
Brenda brushed off her skirt and took a step toward us, her voice suddenly softening into a defensive whine.
Brenda: David, don't look at me like that. She fell on the playground yesterday at the park.
David: A playground fall doesn't leave grip marks, Brenda! These are thumb prints!
Brenda: You're exaggerating because you're angry. She has sensitive skin!
David: Sensitive skin? She’s three years old!
Lily: Step-mommy squeezed me when you went to work...
The air left my lungs in a sharp gasp as I stared at Brenda, whose face turned pale.
Brenda: She's lying! She's three, David! Kids make things up all the time to get attention!
David: She doesn't lie about being hurt, Brenda!
Brenda: I've been taking care of your child while you work ten-hour days at the firm! Is this the thanks I get?
David: I paid you to support this family, not to turn my house into a nightmare for my daughter!
Brenda: I sacrificed my career to step in as her mother after Sarah passed away!
David: Sarah would never have let anyone hurt her baby!
Brenda: Sarah is dead, David! I'm the woman in this house now!
David: Not anymore you're not. Get inside and pack your bags.
Brenda: You can't throw me out! We are married! Half of this house is mine!
David: We signed a prenup, Brenda. And abuse breaks every agreement we ever made.
Brenda: You have no proof! A court will laugh at a toddler's word against mine!
David: We'll see about that. Get out of my way.
I carried Lily past Brenda, straight up the steps and into the front foyer, locking the heavy front door behind us.
Lily: Is step-mommy going to hurt us again?
David: Never again, Lily. I swear to you on my life.
I sat Lily down on the kitchen counter and gently grabbed an ice pack from the freezer, wrapping it in a clean cloth.
David: Hold this on your arm, okay baby?
Lily: Okay, Daddy.
As I reached into my pocket to pull out my phone to call my divorce lawyer, my fingers brushed against a small key—a key Brenda had lost last week, which I had found under the sofa cushion. It belonged to the locked steel box in her closet, the one she insisted held only her personal tax documents.
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