Elara's thumb kept brushing the same tear track on Fiona's cheek, slow and rhythmic, like she could wipe away the pain itself if she just kept going. Her eyes were locked on the red handprint blooming across Fiona's face five distinct fingers, already darkening at the edges. The sight made something primal twist .
"I will call Marcus," she said, already reaching for her phone on the coffee table. "How dare his girlfriend beat up my girl like that."
Fiona's hand shot out fast, desperate catching Elara's wrist.
"No, Mom. No."
Elara froze, phone halfway to her ear.
"Fiona—"
"No need to give him that attention," Fiona said, voice cracking but firm. "He doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve to know anything about my life anymore. Let them have each other. Let them choke on it."
Elara stared at her daughter for a long second searching, weighing, hurting.
"But Fiona—"
