I pushed the door slowly.
And I immediately felt that something was wrong.
The room was bathed in the soft afternoon light, but there was no sign of celebration.
The beautiful velvet dress of the recital was lying on a chair — intact.
Lily was standing near the window.
He was still wearing jeans and an old T-shirt with a cartoon cat.
His face — usually full of life — was pale and tired.
He held the phone so tightly that the knuckles were white.
“Hi, daughter,” I said, trying to sound normal.
“Your mom is an expert in closings. Do you want me to call her?”
Lily slowly denied with her head.
“The closing thing was not true,” he whispered.
My chest became heavy.
He came over.
And then I saw the deep dark circles under his eyes.
“Dad… you need to see something.
But you have to promise… to promise that you won’t be scared.”
The world seemed to stop.
“What do you mean?” I asked quietly.
He turned slowly.
His movement looked fragile — like glass.
Then he lifted the back of his shirt.
And my world stopped completely.
On his back were clear bruise marks.
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