Oh my god,” I whispered, the floor seeming to tilt beneath my feet. “Kayla… is this true?”

Steven’s face was turning a blotchy red. “Those could be from anything! She plays volleyball! This is insane. I’m taking her to prom in a limo I paid for myself!”

My husband appeared in the doorway, his face hardening as he looked over my shoulder at the gallery of bruises on my phone. “Kayla, baby,” I pleaded, my voice breaking. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Steven’s grip on her arm tightened. “We’re leaving. This is ridiculous. Get dressed, Kayla.”