As the transport vehicle sped through the predawn darkness, my mind raced with strategies and contingencies. Years of military service had taught me the importance of preparation and decisive action. My daughter, Emma, needed me now more than ever, and I was resolved to ensure she would never experience such terror again.
The vehicle arrived at the hospital, and I hurried inside, my heart pounding with urgency and fury. In the sterile corridors of the ICU, the reality hit me harder than I expected. Emma lay in a hospital bed, her face marred with vivid bruises, her arm in a cast. The sight was unbearable, yet her eyes, filled with relief and pain, connected with mine.
“Mom,” she croaked, her voice fragile yet determined. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
