Dad wanted my sister’s at:tack hidden behind our front door, insisting we would “handle this at home.” Then the emergency room doctor noticed something in my x-rays that did not match our story, and the people who arrived changed everything we thought we could keep secret.

pulled over her hands, her face cold and dry-eyed.

Then Dr. Carter moved toward the wall phone.

Dad frowned. “What are you doing?”

“I’m filing a mandatory report.”

The color drained from his face.

Those two words hit harder than the tumble down the stairs.

Mandatory report.

I remembered hearing the phrase once in health class, but never imagined it could continue reading …