Chapter 1 - The Kitchen Floor at Christmas
The white marble was cold under my knees even through my dress. I remember that because everything else in the kitchen was warm, the recessed lights overhead, the Christmas tree glowing in the next room, the smell of whatever Mom had in the oven. I had my bunny pressed so hard to my chest I could feel its pink nose squishing against my chin, and the cream fur was damp where I'd been holding it. Uncle Daniel was kneeling in front of me so his eyes were level with mine, his gray shirt pulling at his shoulders, his watch catching the light when he moved his hand.
My left arm had the mark on it, a purple-red smear just below my elbow that I'd tried to hide with my sleeve. The tree behind Daniel was all lit up and blinking, and for a second I stared at those lights instead of his face because they made the kitchen look like it should have felt safe. It didn't.
That afternoon I was five and still believed Christmas lights could keep me safe.
Daniel breathed out slow. He didn't reach for me right away. He just looked at the mark on my forearm and then at my face, his eyebrows drawn together.
"What is it, little bird?" he said. His voice was soft the way he always talked to me when I was upset.
I didn't answer at first. I squeezed my bunny tighter and looked down at my red dress. The velvet was bunched in my right hand. I could feel my heart beating in my throat. I lifted the hem just a little, just enough to show my knee and the top of my shin. There were more marks there, darker in some spots, reddish in others, right around the bone.
Daniel's hand hovered near my leg but didn't touch it. I saw his eyes get wider.
"Would you would you believe me?" I whispered. My voice shook so bad I had to say it twice.
He leaned in a fraction closer. I could hear him breathing.
"Daddy says we have a secret game. It hurts," I said. It came out quiet and I hated how small it sounded. I buried my face in my bunny after, pressing my nose into its head so the fur filled my mouth and I didn't have to look at what I'd just shown him.
Daniel's forehead creased. His hand was still there in the air, steady, not grabbing. He spoke low and even.
"You can tell me. None of this is your fault," he said.
From the living room, near the tree, Mom's voice cut through the warm light. She wasn't close, just a blur of red dress by the bokeh of the lights, but her tone was sharp enough that I flinched.
"Sophia, get in here right now," she called.
I froze with my face still in the bunny. My forearm with the mark was right against its belly, visible. Daniel had gently taken hold of my arm, not tight, just his fingers around it like he was keeping me upright. I looked past him toward the background where Mom was standing, and I could feel tears running down my cheeks into the fur. I didn't know if I was supposed to go to her or stay kneeling on the cold marble with him.
Daniel didn't stand up. He didn't call back to her either. He leaned closer so only I could hear, his eyes on mine the whole time.
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"I promise I'll help you," he whispered.
Mom was still waiting by the tree. The kitchen lights hummed overhead. I stayed there between them, holding my bunny, hem still lifted, not moving toward either one.
