Hidden Scars, Hidden Truths Chapter 2

By the time we got into the treatment bay, Amelia's hand was already turning purple.

Her little body wouldn't stop trembling. "Mommy, I'm scared. Can Daddy come stay with me, too? I can wait for him."

My eyes stung, but I nodded and called Benedict.

When he answered, his tone was laced with exhaustion. "I leave you to handle one simple thing, and you still can't do it without me. What would you do if I weren't around?"

I was so angry that I nearly hung up.

But when I turned and saw Amelia watching me expectantly, I swallowed my anger and forced myself to plead with him.

"Amelia really wants you here. They have to pull the pencil out of her hand, and she's terrified."

"Can you stop using Amelia to guilt me every time you want something?"

Benedict's patience was already wearing thin. "Fine. I'm coming."

I nodded at Amelia, and her eyes immediately lit up.

Thus, we waited and waited.

An entire hour passed, but Benedict never showed.

Amelia kept glancing toward the door. With every passing minute, the hope in her eyes dimmed a little more.

Finally, the doctor approached with a pair of sterile forceps. "We can't put this off any longer. If the tissue starts dying, the damage could become severe enough that she loses the hand."

I called Benedict again.

"You promised Amelia you'd come. She's been waiting for you. If you don't show up, you're going to break her heart."

He sounded annoyed.

"She's six. She's not going to remember every little thing. And can you stop twisting everything to make me look like a terrible father? Something came up, and I can't leave right now. I have to go."

A moment later, a text from Lorelei popped up on my phone.

"I'm so sorry, Clarissa. Penelope fell when she ran off earlier. She looks okay, but Benedict said he wouldn't feel comfortable until she got checked out."

I stared at the message without expression.

Then, I turned off my phone, took a deep breath, and stroked Amelia's hair. "Your father got called back to work. He's really busy, so we're not going to wait for him anymore, okay?"

Amelia nodded.

Then, through the window, she happened to see Benedict walking past with Penelope in his arms.

"Daddy!" she yelled. "That's Daddy…"

The door to the treatment bay was closed, though, and Benedict never heard her.

Amelia had leaned eagerly toward the window, craning her neck for a better look. A moment later, she slowly drew back and wrapped her arms around me without a word.

Then, she looked at the nurse. "You can start. I'm not waiting for Daddy anymore."

The nurse rolled the cart over.

"Okay, sweetheart. I'm going to count to three. Try not to move for me."

Amelia's body went rigid as she pressed herself against me. I wrapped both arms around her, even though I was trembling, too.

The pencil came free, streaked with blood, and I heard the sickening sound of it pulling through torn flesh.

Amelia's tears soaked into my shoulder.

It felt as though something inside my own chest had been torn open right along with her hand.

…

The next morning, I took Amelia to kindergarten.

She stayed unusually quiet for most of the way. Then, she asked timidly, "Mommy, do I have to go to school?"

I crouched down in front of her. "Why don't you want to go, sweetheart? All the other kids go to school. Wouldn't it be fun to play with everyone?"

She lowered her voice. "But Mommy… nobody at school wants to play with me."

My heart clenched.

"Why doesn't anyone want to play with you?"

Her eyes reddened, and she dropped her head even farther.

"Penelope tells everybody I'm stealing her daddy. She says if they don't want someone to steal their daddies too, they can't play with me."

Her shoulders started shaking. A second later, the sobs she'd been holding back finally broke free. "Mommy, is something wrong with me? I really want a friend…"

My own tears came instantly.

With trembling arms, I pulled her into a tight embrace. "There's nothing wrong with you, Amelia. You're an amazing little girl."

After we got home and I finally got Amelia to sleep, I asked her teacher to send me the security footage.

In the video, the other children were gathered in little cliques, talking and playing with one another.

Amelia was the only one sitting by herself.

I stared at the screen with burning eyes and found myself just as quiet as she was.

Being ostracized like that could break an adult, let alone a six-year-old child.

A little later in the video, a group of kids approached her. Penelope was leading them, carrying a cardboard box in her hands.

I watched Amelia's face flush before she rushed forward and tried to grab the box. The two girls immediately began struggling over it.

The children around them laughed and egged them on. Then, they opened Amelia's pencil case and started pelting her with pencils.

Amelia threw up her hands, desperately trying to protect herself as they came flying at her from every direction.

While she was distracted, Penelope managed to pull free. She grabbed a pencil from the floor and raised it, preparing to stab it into the cardboard box.

Amelia's face fell. She lunged toward Penelope, and the pencil that had been aimed at the box plunged into Amelia's palm instead.

For a moment, my breath hitched.

I looked over at Amelia sleeping beside me, and the memory of that pencil piercing her hand felt as though it had gone straight through my own heart.

Tears streamed down my cheeks.

I sent the video to Benedict, but he never even read the message, let alone reply.

So, I sat beside Amelia and waited for a response, crying quietly while keeping mosquitoes away from her as she slept.

Benedict had been the one to name Amelia.

Back then, he'd told me that Amelia would always be the most precious person in his life. But that devotion seemed to exist only when he talked about it.

Whenever Amelia actually needed him, he was nowhere to be found.

He was either working late or rushing off to take care of Lorelei's daughter.

Benedict was always telling me how hard Lorelei had it, raising a daughter all by herself. But when he was gone this often, how was I any less alone?