Kamille's POV

As I sat at my desk, surrounded by paperwork and evidence, my mind drifted back to a time long ago, when I was just a child, a few years older than my own tucked-in angels in their rooms.

I looked through the evidence I had gathered on Liz. Her fight is a few days away and I have to send these pieces of evidence to Amanda, so she forwards them to the blogger.

I study the photos of my injuries, the fractured arms, the bruised ribs decolourized purplish red– and my heart aches with empathy as though I was feeling the pain afresh.

Relishing my past hurt, my...