“Someone had to teach her some manners,” I didn't scream or make a scene. I gazed at the laceration on my daughter's forehead, whipped out my phone, and made a single phone call. Sixty minutes later, major banks began freezing millions of dollars, while my husband remained entirely oblivious to who was behind it.
“Your daughter needed someone to teach her some manners!”
Those words were still hanging in the air when I watched Vanessa Reed, my husband's executive assistant, slap my six-year-old daughter right inside his corporate headquarters.
Sophie staggered backward, her forehead striking the sharp corner of a heavy desk.
For an instant, she shed no tears.
She simply stood paralyzed, holding her cheek, staring at Vanessa in total disbelief that an adult had just hit her.
Then her eyes met mine.
“Mom...”
The container of chicken soup meant for Ethan dropped from my grasp.
I sprinted toward her.
“Sophie!”
I gathered her into my embrace and saw a small cut above her eyebrow, her cheek already swelling with redness.
