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My 12-year-old daughter kept crying about the sharp pain in her jaw, barely able to

As the realization of my ex-husband’s manipulative schemes wrapped around my mind, a chill traveled down my spine. I was engulfed by a mix of anger, betrayal, and a fierce protective instinct.

How could he use our daughter as a pawn in his twisted game? It was a feeling I never anticipated—my despair transforming into resolve.

Dr. Evans, still white-faced, gently placed a comforting hand on Mia’s shoulder. “You’re safe now, Mia. We’re going to make sure no one ever hurts you like this again,” he assured her, though his eyes betrayed the shock and disbelief that matched my own.

I quickly dialed the police, my hands shaking as I relayed the story to the dispatcher. They promised to send someone immediately. As I hung up, I felt the weight of the situation settle on my shoulders. The reality was heart-wrenching. My little girl had been suffering, and I had been blind to it.

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