Child abuse

Previously

…This was it. Her secret. Her silent screams. She watched them go, a desperate hope warring with a paralyzing fear. Her drawings were her only weapon, her only hope for someone to finally see. She watched as Mr. Henderson’s gaze fell upon the sketchbook, lying open where she’d left it, the storm clouds and the huddled figure stark against the white page. The fear was still there, a cold knot in her stomach, but for the first time, a tiny spark of defiance, fueled by the fragile hope that perhaps, just perhaps, Mr. Henderson would understand, flickered within her. The colors of her fear were about to be laid bare.