Later that night, her mother, Marina, called.
Her voice was sharp.
“Where are you?” she demanded. “I came home and you two were gone.”
“At the doctor,” I said.
A pause.
“Why?”
“Sophie told me what happened.”
Silence.
Then quickly:
“She’s exaggerating.”
“I saw the bruise.”
“You’re blowing this out of proportion.”
“No,” I said quietly. “I’m finally seeing it clearly.”
Another pause.
Then, softer and controlled:
“Let’s talk in person.”
“We’re not meeting tonight,” I said. “And you’re not going to see her until it’s safe.”
Her tone broke.
“What did she say?”
That told me everything.
