“She told me not to say anything,” he whispered. “She said it would be worse if I did.”
Michael’s voice stayed calm.
“Who?”
“Mom. And her boyfriend.”
The words landed like ice.
“She said you couldn’t help me.”
Michael closed his eyes for one steadying breath.
When he opened them, he already knew what he would do.
THE TRUTH WRITTEN IN BRUISES
What he saw confirmed it.
The injuries weren’t from roughhousing. They weren’t new. They told a pattern — repetition, fear, silence reinforced with pain.
This wasn’t a single bad moment.
It was a system.
Michael didn’t shout. He didn’t call his attorney. He didn’t threaten.
