Chapter 1 - The Blood on the Red Dress
The beautifully decorated dining room smelled of expensive pine and roasted cinnamon, a sickening contrast to the metallic taste of blood in Claire’s mouth. She stood trembling in the grand doorway, the heavy fabric of her dark winter coat wrapped tightly over her torn red holiday dress. In her arms, she held her five-year-old daughter, Emily, who was clutching Claire’s neck as if letting go meant falling off a cliff. Emily’s tiny body shivered inside her green velvet holiday dress.
Claire’s left eye was swollen shut. A dark, jagged purple bruise stretched across her cheekbone, and a fresh cut on her lower lip was still bleeding sluggishly. She had driven through a blinding Chicago snowstorm to get to her childhood home, desperate for sanctuary. She had come to the people who were supposed to protect her.
Instead, she found a courtroom.
Her father sat at the head of the long mahogany dinner table, swirling a glass of scotch. He wore a plush burgundy sweater, looking entirely unbothered by the battered state of his only daughter.
Tears finally spilled over Claire’s eyelashes, stinging her fresh wounds. Her voice broke as she stared at the man who raised her. "Look at my face, Dad."
Her father didn't flinch. He didn't rush to hold her. He simply took a slow sip of his drink, raised his free hand, and gestured dismissively toward her battered body.
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"I can see your face, Claire," he said coldly.
👉 Why is her father completely ignoring the brutal injuries on his own daughter’s face?
