Twenty seven

Kamille's POV

As I sat at my desk, surrounded by paperwork and evidence, my mind drifted back to a time long ago, when I was just a child, a few years older than my own tucked-in angels in their rooms.

I looked through the evidence I had gathered on Liz. Her fight is a few days away and I have to send these pieces of evidence to Amanda, so she forwards them to the blogger.

I study the photos of my injuries, the fractured arms, the bruised ribs decolourized purplish red– and my heart aches with empathy as though I was feeling the pain afresh.

Relishing my past hurt, my mind took me back to the days when my sisters' bullying left me battered and bruised, physically and emotionally. Each time I tried to speak up, they twisted the truth, painting me as the villain in our family drama.

“Kamille, stop trying to blame your sisters for everything.” Esther Manor's voice echoes in my mind, filled with doubt and disbelief. “They're just playing around.”

“But Mom, it's not fair! They're hurting