“She’s exactly like you—always so sensitive, always looking for attention.”

Before Sawyer could fire back, a social worker named Bridget Tucker entered the room, carrying a thick file folder. She politely asked to speak with Gracie the moment she woke, and requested permission to take clinical photographs of the injury for the report.

Carolina shot to her feet, her face turning crimson. “I absolutely do not authorize any of this,” she screamed.

Bridget looked at her with cool, professional indifference. “Authorization is granted by the legal guardian currently present, and Mr. Owens has already signed the consent forms,” she said firmly.

“And per standard protocol for suspected abuse, the child is allowed to give her own account of what she experienced.”

Carolina let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “Testify? She’s only seven years old!”