A dark oval mark sat on the soft skin of Emma’s inner arm, right next to three faint, thin bruises shaped like fingers.

“How long has this mark been there, Mrs.

Bennett?” Jennifer asked.

“I noticed it yesterday morning when I was getting her dressed,” I said, smoothing my skirt down over my knees.

“She spent Thursday afternoon at my mother’s house in Rochester Hills.”

“Did she fall against any furniture?” Dr.

Hayes asked, coming around the bed to look at the mark himself.

“She never said anything about falling,” I said.