Chapter 5

Madeleine

I run as fast as my legs can carry me, not stopping until the school comes into view.

I line up with the other parents who are here to pick up their children. I can’t wait to get Betsy out of here. I found a school for her. A good school. With other children who are like her. A place where they will understand and help her.

I keep my head down, aware of the whispers behind my back. The parents cluster in small groups, chittering about me. “I wonder what she did this time?” Riana’s mother gossips.

“Probably one of her johns,” another mother says. “I hear some men like that kind of thing."

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. It’s no wonder that little bastard of hers is so… stunted. Poor kid has no mother to teach her any better. She should have dropped that baby on the church’s steps.”

I shove my hands in my coat and curl my fingers into fists.

“She’s a mess,” another woman mutters, her voice low but loud enough for me to hear.

“Did you see her neck?” another says. “We should really phone the services. Have that poor baby taken from her. She deserves better, don’t you think?”

I shift my scarf higher, hiding the bruises that snake around my throat. My body still aches from Bruce’s assault. My cheek burns where he slapped me, but it’s my throat that bothers me the most. It throbs along to the beat of my heart, and it hurts to swallow.

“Once a whore, always a whore right?” Riana’s mother says. “I heard she had Betsy when she was just fourteen… that’s why they kicked her out of school.”

I want to cry and scratch their eyes out at the same time. My nails bite into my palms, and I swallow the scream welling in my chest.

It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s is our last day here. In a few hours, none of this will matter anymore.

The bell rings, and the children pour out of the building. I anxiously scan the crowd. “Come on, Betsy,” I mutter.

We are on borrowed time here. I don’t know if they found Bruce yet, but I don’t have the luxury to stick around and find out.

Finally she appears, her bright yellow backpack swinging in her hand.

She runs toward me, her smile wide and carefree. “Hello, Mommy!”

I kneel to catch her, wrapping her in my arms despite the pain flaring in my ribs. ‘Did you have a good day?” I ask on autopilot.

Betsy pulls back slightly, her small hands cupping my face. She gingerly touches my nose. “Mommy, you have blood…”

I touch my nose, and feel the sticky, drying blood on my skin. I didn’t even realise. “Just a nosebleed, honey,” I say, and use the edge of my scarf to wipe it away. “How is that?”

“Much better,” she replies and touches my cheek. “Does it hurt?

“No,” I lie, smoothing her hair. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

As I stand, I catch the stares of the other parents. Their whispers cut through the hum of the schoolyard, each one nastier than the last.

My chest tightens, but I don’t say anything. They revel in my embarrassment.

“Mommy, are you crying?” Betsy asks softly, tugging on my hand.

I blink rapidly, forcing back the tears. “No, sweetie,” I whisper. “I’m just happy to see you.”

She smiles, her innocence breaking my heart all over again.

We are almost home when the wail of sirens cuts through the air.

A police car screeches to a halt in front of us, and two police officers step out, their faces hard and unreadable. My stomach twists as one of them approaches, his hand resting on his holster.

“Madeleine Davis?” he asks.

Betsy clutches my hand tightly, her wide blue eyes staring fearfully up at me. “Mommy?”

“Yes,” I say cautiously, my voice barely audible.

“You’re under arrest,” the officer says, pulling out his handcuffs. ”For attempted murder.”

“What?” I stammer, my chest tightening. “No, this is a mistake… what did I do?”

The officer grabs my arm, twisting it behind my back. Betsy screams, trying to pull me away, her tiny feet lashing out, kicking at the officer’s leg. The man shakes her off like a pesky fly, and she lands on the hard pavement.

“Oooowww,” she wails. “Mommy!” she calls out. “Mommy what’s going on?”

“Please,” I beg with the policeman. “Please, my daughter. I can’t leave her here.”

“Mommy!” she screams, her little voice breaking with pure terror. “Help me! Help me!”

“Betsy, stop!” I say, my voice trembling with fear, but still firm. “Run home. G- go to Miss Clarissa-”

“No!” she wails and runs over, clinging to my arm.

“You have to honey.”

“There’s no need,” one of the officers says. “We’ll just bring her with us.”

My stomach turns to liquid ice. “No! No, she can’t go. She won’t understand. Please don’t take her.”

To my horror, a female officer approaches Betsy and pulls her away from me. Her nails dig into my skin, leaving painful furrows behind. 

The moment Betsy realises what’s going on, she goes into full-on meltdown mode, kicking and screaming, trying her best to break free of the officer’s grip, but she’s no match for the much bigger woman.

“Betsy!” I call out. “Listen to the lady. She’s nice. Don’t be scared.”

My voice gets lost in her screams. A massive policeman walks over, picks Betsy up, and unceremoniously throws her over his shoulder. She bites and scratches and screams like a possessed wildcat, trying her best to free herself. “No- no- no,” she cries out. “Put me down!”

“No!” I scream. “No. They won’t be able to…. She’s very hurt. I’m the only one she’ll listen to. At least let me take her. Put her in the car with me.”

“You should have thought about your daughter before you attacked an innocent man,” the police officer replies coldly as he slams me into the side of the car. Pain rattles through my already ravaged body. "Oops," he laughs and bundles me into the backseat.

Stunned, I just sit there, staring out of the window at the smirking faces of the gathered crowd. 

**

The police station is a nightmare.

They drag me into a filthy interrogation room and shove me into a metal chair, cuffing me to the table. The fluorescent lights buzz faintly, casting a harsh glare over the grimy walls.

Bruce’s wife is seated across from me, her tear-streaked face twisted with fury. Next to her sits Lola, her head bowed and her hands clenched in her lap.

“She attacked him,” Bruce’s wife says, her voice filled with accusation. “That’s the bitch who almost killed my husband. And for what? Money, that’s what. He’s so good to his employees, but this cunt’s greed knows no… my husband almost died.”

I shake my head, my voice hoarse. “It was self-defence. He- he tried to- he attacked me first! Look at me! I'm covered in bruises.”

“She’s lying,” Lola whispers, her voice quiet but firm. “I saw the whole thing. Bruce just tried to defend himself. She promised me half if I kept quiet.”

Her words hit like a gut punch. “Lola,” I breathe. “Why are you-”

“She told us everything,” one of the officers interrupts, smirking.

Lola’s betrayal burns in my chest, but I barely have time to process it before the interrogation begins.

Their voices blur together, each question sharper and more twisted than the last. I try to answer them, but no one gives me a chance to speak.

“She's a filthy little tramp," the wife spits out. "Bruce always talked about her… telling me how she tried to seduce him to get more money.”

“That’s not true!” I protest, even though I know it’s futile. No one believes me anyway. “I did my work and went home. I never asked for anything extra. Bruce wouldn’t give me my pay. He wanted me to talk Lola into getting an abor-”

The policeman slaps me so hard that my ears ring.

“Check his office then!” I scream. “After he… I only took what was mine. I didn’t take anything else.”

The officer behind me snorts. “You think you’re going to talk your way out of this?” His hand clamps down on my shoulder, squeezing hard enough to make me fold in on myself. “We already searched his office. All the money’s gone.”

My mouth drops open and I stare at Lola, who gives me a sly little smile. “That is… Lola took it.”

Then the next slap lands. So hard that I see nothing but red for several seconds. My head jerks to the side; the sting spreading across my cheek. 

Blood explodes from my nose and runs in a river down my face into my mouth. “You filthy little gutter rat,” the police officer spits. “Pinning your crimes on an innocent young woman… have you no shame?”

The second blow is harder, my vision blurring as the world starts to spin like a top.

“Tell us the truth,” the officer growls, grabbing my chin and forcing me to look at him.

“I am telling the truth,” I gasp, tears streaming down my face. “I can’t… what is the point if you don’t believe me?”

He lets go with a sneer. “Then maybe you need a little help remembering.”

The next hit is a punch to my gut. Pain explodes through me, the breath whooshes from my lungs, and I double over, gasping for air. The room spins, dark spots dancing in my vision.

All I can think about is Betsy. Where is my little Betsy? What are they doing to her?

The door creaks open, and suddenly, the room falls silent.

I blink, disoriented, as I look up and a familiar figure steps inside.

Rafael.

What is he doing here?

He doesn’t speak at first, his eyes sweeping the room like a predator sizing up his prey, deciding who he’ll kill first. 

His suit is immaculate, his tie perfectly knotted, but there’s a storm in his gaze - cold and unrelenting.

The officers freeze, their smug expressions vanishing.

“Out,” Rafael says, his voice low but commanding.

One of the officers clears his throat. “Sir, we’re-”

“Now.” Rafael's voice cuts through the room like a whip. “I will deal with you later.”

The officers scramble to obey, muttering apologies as they retreat from the room. 

Bruce’s wife and Lola quickly follow the policemen, their faces pale, almost blue, with fear.

When the door closes, Rafael steps forward, his shadow falling over me.

I can barely lift my head, my body is trembling, my chest heaving with ragged breaths. 

He takes the key to the handcuffs from the table and undoes them. Then he crouches in front of me, tilting his head as he studies my face.

“Seems like you do need my help after all, doesn’t it?” he says softly.