Hidden Scars, Hidden Truths Chapter 1

My daughter, Amelia Rossum, comes home with her palm pierced all the way through by a pencil. I drop my mop in a panic, hastily change out of my loungewear, and rush her to the ER.

At the hospital entrance, my husband, Benedict Rossum, jumps out of his car and immediately lashes out at me. "How could you let this happen to her?"

Our neighbor, Lorelei Bates, trails behind him, holding her daughter's hand. She addresses him gently, "Benedict, don't be so hard on Clarissa. Everyone makes mistakes."

He scoffs. "Other mothers can keep their kids safe perfectly fine. What's her excuse? I bet she did this on purpose to guilt me into coming home early!"

Amelia recoils and hides behind me.

Seeing her reaction, Benedict crouches down and immediately softens his voice. "Don't be scared, Amelia. I'm right here. You can tell me what happened. I'll make it right."

"Really?"

She steals anxious glances at me.

I shake my head, silently telling her not to say anything.

With Lorelei standing right there, we don't stand a chance. She always finds a way to twist the truth against us.

Benedict shoves me aside and picks Amelia up. "Clarissa, are you trying to scare her into keeping quiet? What kind of mother are you? What, did you stab her hand on purpose, too?"

"No, it wasn't Mommy!"

Amelia bursts into sobs.

Benedict gently pats her back, his eyes reddening with distress. "It must hurt a lot, doesn't it, Amelia? Tell me what happened to your hand."

She's sobbing so hard that she can barely catch her breath. After a long while, she finally points at Lorelei's daughter and says in between sobs, "Penelope and her friends stabbed me."

* * *

As soon as the words left her mouth, Benedict Rossum froze. His brow furrowed as he turned toward Lorelei Bates' daughter, Penelope Bates.

Penelope immediately hid behind her mother. Her little face crumpled, and tears streamed down her cheeks.

"I didn't do anything."

Lorelei turned on her at once. "Then why would Amelia say you did? She's too young to make something like that up on her own. Unless somebody told her what to say, why would she accuse you for no reason?"

Penelope wiped her tears with the back of her hand. "How am I supposed to know who told her that?"

That was apparently all Benedict needed to hear.

His expression hardened as he looked at our daughter, Amelia Rossum. "Amelia, who told you to say that? Was it your mom?"

Amelia immediately panicked, shaking her head as hard as she could. "No! Nobody told me anything!"

Alas, Benedict wasn't listening anymore. He had already decided I was behind it.

"I'm exhausted from working overtime, and while I'm busting my ass at work, this is what you're doing at home? Teaching our daughter to lie?"

My heart sank.

"So you'd rather believe in someone else's child than your own daughter?" I shot back.

Benedict let out a cold laugh. "I believe Amelia. You're the one I don't trust. Penelope doesn't have a mother feeding her things to say just to make other people look bad."

I stared at him.

After all these years, he still hadn't let that go.

When Amelia was a baby, taking care of her by myself had nearly worn me down. I was up several times a night for feedings, and there were nights when I barely slept at all.

One day, Mom called while I was exhausted, and I couldn't resist complaining to her.

"Being a mother is exhausting when you're doing everything yourself. I think I liked being somebody's daughter better."

Benedict happened to overhear me.

He started a huge fight, accusing me of making him sound like an absent father and deliberately giving my mother the impression that he never helped with Amelia.

From then on, whenever we were around other people, he made a point of talking about Amelia and how much he loved her.

At the same time, he became increasingly critical of me. Whether we were with people or alone, he'd find some way to imply that I wasn't doing a good enough job raising our daughter.

"At least this way, nobody hears one of your stories and walks away thinking I'm some deadbeat father who doesn't take care of his own kid," he had said.

Amelia kicked him. "Daddy, you're so mean! You're always yelling at Mommy! I'm never telling you anything again!"

She struggled to get down, but the movement pulled at the wound in her hand and tore it open again. She burst into tears.

"Mommy, it hurts!"

Benedict's expression hardened as he yelled at me, "What are you standing there for? Get her inside! Is this how you take care of your own daughter?"

We rushed Amelia into the ER, both of us trying to protect her injured hand.

Before we could get inside, Penelope suddenly cried out behind us and took off running.

"You're only blaming me because I don't have a daddy! I'm an orphan anyway! Nobody loves me, and nobody cares what happens to me!"

Lorelei clutched Benedict's shirt. "Please, go after Penelope. What if something happens to her?"

Amelia's face was already pale from the pain. She reached for Benedict and clung to him. "Daddy, don't go. It hurts so bad."

Benedict pulled her off him and pushed her into my arms. Then, he turned and ran after Penelope.

"Take care of her! If anything happens to Amelia, you're going to answer for it!"

Amelia stared after him, then at her hand, which she was still holding awkwardly in the air. The color drained from her face.

Meanwhile, Lorelei casually strutted over and flashed me an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry, Clarissa. Penelope's still a kid, and she can be a little possessive. She's gotten so attached to Benedict that she practically thinks he's her father."

I had no patience left for her.

Instead, I turned and took Amelia into the ER.