But nothing prepares you to see your own child like that.

I brought her inside, sat her down, and cleaned her wounds with steady hands while my insides burned. She told me between sobs that her husband, Max, had lost his temper during an argument about money. One push, one slap — and she hit the floor.

“Does your stomach hurt?” I asked, already checking for signs of trauma.

“No. The baby’s fine. I was just so scared.”

Max Daniels. Thirty-five, polished, confident — the kind of man who always smiled too wide and looked at the world like it owed him something. When Emily first introduced him, I saw the warning signs. But she was in love, and I didn’t want to ruin her happiness.

Now here she was, battered and broken in my living room.

“You’re not going back there,” I said.

“Mom… maybe