An Army Colonel raced two hours to a hospital room to rescue her bruised daughter from an abusive family, but she didn't come alone.

Rebecca dropped to one knee beside the hospital bed, bringing herself eye-level with Lauren. Her posture softened completely, the combat hardened officer yielding to the fiercely protective mother.

"Lauren, look at me," Rebecca said gently, placing her warm, gloved hand over her daughter’s trembling fingers.

Lauren pulled her knees closer to her chest, her body shaking as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks, washing over the purple bruise on her right forearm. She couldn't speak through the hitching breaths in her throat.

Behind them, seated in the leather armchair, Celeste Whitaker didn't flinch. She slowly smoothed the skirt of her cream designer suit, her cold blue eyes fixing onto Rebecca’s back like steel needles.

"She fell down the stairs at the lake house, Rebecca," Celeste said, her voice dripping with artificial sympathy and rehearsed calm. "It was an unfortunate accident after a few glasses of wine. There's no need to create a scene in a public hospital."

Rebecca didn't turn around. She ignored Celeste entirely, keeping her attention focused strictly on Lauren's face, studying the angle of the cut beneath the eyebrow bandage with practiced tactical awareness.

"Do you want to leave with me?" Rebecca asked softly, her eyes searching her daughter's face.

Lauren choked back a sob, looked past her mother's shoulder at Evan—who still refused to meet her gaze near the window—and then looked straight into her mother’s eyes.