“Missed you, sweetheart,” I whispered, kissing the top of her head. Her hair smelled of strawberries, a familiar comfort that briefly eased my tension.

“Did you have fun with Mommy?” I asked, pulling back to look at her.

She nodded, but her eyes didn’t meet mine. “We went to the zoo,” she said, but her voice was flat, her gaze drifting to the floor.

“Are you okay?” I asked, trying to catch her eye. “You seem… different.”

She hesitated, her small fingers playing with the hem of her shirt, a nervous habit she had inherited from me. Then she nodded again, but it was far from convincing.

“Valentina,” I said softly, lifting her chin so she could see the sincerity in my eyes. “You can tell me anything, you know that, right?”

She hesitated again, and then, as if making a monumental decision, she stepped back. Slowly, she lifted her shirt.

I felt my heart drop into my stomach. There, on her delicate skin, were bruises—dark and painful-looking, spreading like a cruel masterpiece of violence. My breath caught in my throat, fury and disbelief warring within me.

“Valentina… who did this to you?” I asked, my voice trembling with anger I was trying desperately to contain.