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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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Her refusal to eat when he was at the table. The deadbolts I heard clicking on her bedroom door every night. Daniel’s aggressive insistence that she was faking it.

My blood turned to ice.

“No,” I breathed, the realization ripping my soul to shreds. “She cannot go home.”

“She won’t have to,” Megan said. “But we have to move quickly.”

Chapter 3: The Exodus continue reading …

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