Battle Scars|✔️

The lingering scent of stale blood and fear clung to Thea Mason like a second skin. Her small, nine-year-old body was sprawled on the cold kitchen floor, the sticky residue beneath her a stark reminder of her 'punishment.' A single, stolen piece of bread had cost her this agony, another lesson from her mother and stepfather in what they called 'lying, stealing bitch' behavior. The sharp ache in her ribs was a new, unwelcome companion.

"Thea! Get down here now!" Her mother's voice, usually a venomous hiss, now carried a strange, sickly sweetness that sent shivers down Thea's spine. It was a rare tone, one reserved for outsiders, not for her. Something was different, and Thea's finely tuned survival instincts screamed caution.

Slowly, painfully, Thea made her way down the creaking stairs, every joint protesting. Her mother was grinning, a wide, Cheshire Cat smile that twisted Thea's stomach into knots. 'She's probably drunk,' Thea thought, the familiar explanation a small comfort in the face of the unknown.

Then came the words, delivered with giddy excitement: "Thea dear, go pack your things."

Thea gulped, a knot forming in her throat. "Um, Ma'am? Where am I going?"

Her mother's smile widened, a chilling brightness in her eyes. "You're going to live with your father."

The words hung in the air, a shocking, impossible declaration. Thea's heart plummeted, a dizzying mix of fear and a fragile, forbidden hope stirring within her.