“Here.” I trailed my finger over the old mark. “What’s this from?” “My dad,” she replied, breathing out a heavy sigh. “My dad’s going to kill me,” she continued to choke out, clutching her torn skirt. “My uniform’s ruined. Johnny,” she groaned and then winced. “Johnny. Johnny. Johnny. This is bad…” “What?” I urged. “What’s bad?” “My dad,” she whispered. If I was wrong about this, and there was a huge chance that I was, she would never forgive me. I figured I was already in the doghouse over the way I acted, but accusing her father of abusing her would be the nail in the potential coffin for
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