SIENNA

“Take your shirt off.”

Mom’s voice left no room to argue. The grocery bags sat forgotten on the counter. The house felt too small.

I didn’t move.

“Sienna.” Sharper now. “Now.”

I pulled the shirt over my head and dropped it on the floor. Standing there in just my bra, the bruise on my hip looked darker under the kitchen light. The dried smear Roman had left across my lower stomach was still faintly visible, like a brand.

Mom’s eyes moved over both marks slowly. Her face didn’t change, but something cold settled behind her eyes.

“How long?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Don’t.” She stepped closer. “How long have you been...