At first my mind tried to protect me. I thought the marks across her back were bruises.

Then I stepped closer.

They were not bruises. They were words.

I had spent forty years working around injuries. I had seen damage left by accidents, neglect, rage, stupidity, and cruelty.

This was different. Not rage. Not panic. Not one wild moment gone too far.

Control. Time. A message left on my child like evidence.