I photographed every bruise again, making sure the date and time were visible. Then I recorded the rope marks around her wrists from several angles.
Mother looked away.
“I must look terrible.”
“You look brave.”
“I don’t feel brave.”
“Most brave people don’t.”
A knock struck the bathroom door.
Three sharp taps.
Mother gasped and grabbed my arm.
“Elena?” Julian called. “Everything all right?”
I steadied my voice.
“She felt dizzy. I’m helping her.”
The handle moved.
I had locked it.
“Why is the door locked?”
“Because she’s bathing.”
Silence followed.
Then Chloe spoke from the hallway.
“She doesn’t need help bathing.”
Mother’s nails pressed into my wrist.
“I’m already here,” I replied. “We’ll be down shortly.”
Another silence.
I imagined Julian and Chloe exchanging a look outside the door.
Finally, Julian said, “Dinner is getting cold.”
Their footsteps retreated.
