Chapter 2 - The Stained Uniform
Sophia didn't flinch. She adjusted the diamond bracelet on her wrist, standing in the middle of Valerie’s immaculate bedroom as if she were simply reviewing a housekeeper’s work.
"Lower your voice, Andrew," Sophia said smoothly, her tone laced with icy condescension. "You’re dramatic. Look at her report card on the desk. Straight A’s. Perfection. Do you think seven-year-olds stay disciplined on their own? I built structure in this house while you were gallivanting around Wall Street."
Andrew ignored her completely. He dropped to one knee in front of his little girl. Valerie was stiff as a statue, her tiny fingers clenched tightly against her plaid school skirt.
"Valerie... look at Daddy, sweetie," Andrew whispered, his voice trembling.
The little girl didn't turn her head. Her wide, brown eyes remained locked onto the floorboards. "I'm sorry, Daddy," she whispered in a flat, monotone voice. "I spoke about Mommy. I broke Rule Number Four."
Andrew felt a cold spike of horror pierce his chest. "Rule Number Four?"
He reached out and gently took Valerie’s small hands into his own. That was when he saw it—a tiny, dark red crusting along the cuff of her crisp white long-sleeved uniform shirt.
With shaking hands, Andrew unbuttoned the sleeve cuff and pulled it back.
What he saw made his vision go completely red.
Underneath the pristine white fabric, Valerie’s small wrists were covered in dark, purple-and-yellow bruises. Fresh, raised red welts crisscrossed her forearms. The skin on her palms was cracked and raw, carefully hidden under foundation makeup that was beginning to rub off against her sleeves.
She hadn't been maturing. She had been living under reign of systematic terror.
"You monster," Andrew breathed, standing up so fast the wooden chair behind him crashed to the floor.
Sophia stepped back slightly, her polite smile faltering for a fraction of a second before her face hardened into contempt. "Don't be ridiculous, Andrew. She gets nervous and hits herself. I was merely holding her accountable—"
"Pack your bags," Andrew rumbled, his voice dropping into a lethal, chest-heaving roar that shook the glass windowpanes. "Get out of my house before I tear you apart with my bare hands."
"Your house?" Sophia laughed bitterly, folding her arms across her chest. "Check the estate deed, Andrew. You put my name on the title when we married last year. You can't throw me out. And if you make a scene, I will call Child Protective Services and tell them your demanding work schedule and violent temper created this environment!"
Andrew didn't argue. He knew that engaging with a narcissist in the heat of the moment was useless.
He pulled off his own soft cashmere sweater, wrapped it gently around Valerie’s shivering shoulders, and lifted his daughter into his broad arms. Valerie clung to his neck with a desperate, terrified strength, burying her face into his collarbone.
"We're leaving, Valerie," Andrew murmured against her hair.
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"You walk out that door with her, Andrew, and I’ll make sure you lose everything!" Sophia shouted behind them as Andrew strode down the grand staircase toward his SUV. "Your company, your reputation, and your daughter!"
Andrew slammed the heavy oak front door shut, leaving Sophia’s shrieks echoing inside the empty mansion.
