Chapter 2 - The Bruised Angel
Andrew’s heart completely stopped beating as he crossed the threshold of the cold, industrial laundry room. The space was filled with towering stacks of folded white linens and the low, mechanical hum of a massive white front-loading washing machine in the corner.
He immediately dropped to one knee on the hard linoleum floor, completely ignoring the dust and bleach that stained his expensive navy blue suit pants.
Sitting on the cold floor, wedged in the narrow space between the white washing machine and the damp cinderblock wall, was his nine-year-old daughter, Emily.
Emily looked like a shattered porcelain doll. She was wearing her beautiful, carefully chosen pale pink satin flower girl dress, but the pristine fabric was wrinkled and stained with tears. Scattered across the floor all around her was her woven wicker flower basket—it had been violently crushed, the handle snapped in two, spilling dozens of delicate white rose petals across the dirty linoleum.
But it wasn’t the crushed basket that made the blood freeze in Andrew’s veins. It was his daughter’s face.
Emily’s beautiful curly blonde hair was tangled and messy. Her fair skin, usually so bright and full of life, was marred by terrifying, unmistakable violence. There were stark, dark purple marks blooming across her delicate cheekbone, and as she instinctively raised her arms to shield her face from the sudden noise of the door breaking, Andrew saw a ring of vicious, dark finger-shaped bruises wrapped tightly around her small, pale forearms.
She was crying quietly, her small chest heaving with silent, terrified sobs, her body trembling so violently she could barely keep her head up.
"Emily..." Andrew choked out, his voice completely breathless, entirely stripped of its usual commanding resonance. He reached out with trembling hands, terrified to touch her in case he caused her more pain. "...sweetheart, who did this to you?"
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Emily flinched at the sound of his voice. She slowly lifted her head, tears streaming continuously down her bruised face. She looked absolutely terrified, her wide, bloodshot eyes darting nervously past her father’s shoulder, locking onto the elegant woman in the white wedding gown standing frozen in the hallway.
👉 Read Part 3 to learn the sinister history of the woman in the white gown.
