Not dramatically. Not with tears. I simply described Sophie leaning close, nails pressing into the soft inside of my arm, the medication tray clattering, the immediate transformation of her face into wounded innocence.
Elena listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she stood and walked to the side of my bed. Gently, she lifted my arm.
There, half-hidden beneath tape and bruising from IV lines, were four crescent-shaped marks.
Elena’s jaw tightened.
“I want photographs taken for the record.”
“She’ll say it happened during delivery.”
“She can say many things.” Elena released my arm carefully. “Marks still have patterns.”
The door opened before I could answer.
A nurse stepped in, looking uncomfortable.
“Dr. Reyes? Dr. Bennett is insisting—”
“No,” Elena said.
“He says he’s her husband.”
Elena’s voice did not change. “And I am her physician. She does not want visitors.”
The nurse nodded and disappeared.
A moment later, Cameron’s voice came through the door.
“Amelia!”
I went still.
“Elena, open the door. I need to talk to my wife.”
His voice cracked slightly on the last word.
