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For weeks, my 15-year-old daughter Kayla suffered from constant nausea and stomach pain, hiding inside her oversized hoodie and flinching at every touch. I knew something was horribly wrong, but the doctors kept brushing it off as teenage stress. Then, while washing her laundry, I found a hidden pocket inside her jacket , my blood boiling, and that night, I walked into the faculty dinner holding a baseball bat…

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the hallway to check on Kayla. A sliver of amber light bled from her cracked doorway.

She was curled tightly into a fetal position on top of her blankets. At first, I assumed she was asleep, until a jagged, broken whimper slipped from her lips. The sound seized my lungs.

“Kayla?” I whispered, easing the door open.

She flinched violently. When I reached continue reading …

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