The moment I rushed in, I finally understood how my daughter got those wounds.
For the past two years, I naively believed that Graham—her biological father—would at least protect her.
But I was wrong.
He wasn’t a father. He was a beast.
Not only did he turn his back on her—he let others humiliate her, torment her, treat her like trash.
But today, that ends.
Encouraged by me, Amanda slowly stood up. Her body trembled, but her gaze began to harden.
The group of girls backed off slightly, fear flickering across their faces—though they still tried to act tough.
"Amanda, you dare touch us?" one of them snapped.
"Don’t forget how pathetic you looked when we humiliated you. If you lay a hand on Savannah, her dad will skin you alive!"
At those words, my daughter faltered. She dropped her gaze. That name—Graham—still had power over her. Still made her feel worthless.
Seeing her hesitation, Savannah smirked.
"I knew you didn’t have the guts. Trash like you isn’t even worthy of carrying my shoes—"
Crack!
She didn’t finish her sentence before my hand connected with her face.
A clean, merciless slap.
"If your parents won’t teach you manners," I said coldly, "then allow me to do it for them."
I rolled up my sleeves and turned to my daughter.
“Watch carefully, Amanda. This is how you deal with people who bully you.”
They clearly forgot—when I was 18, I was a national State Kickboxing champion.
A few teenage girls? Please.
Every move I made was sharp, controlled, and devastating.
In less than five minutes, they were crying, scrambling, and on the floor—faces red, pride shattered.
I turned to my daughter.
"Amanda, come here. Show me who hit you. Every slap she gave you—you return it now."
With my support, my daughter finally stood tall. Her eyes burned with courage.
She walked straight up to Savannah, raised her hand, and—smack!
"Savannah, this is for slapping me earlier."
Smack!
"This one’s for pulling my chair and making me fall."
Smack!
"And this is for pushing me off the swing last semester."
Each strike was measured—not just revenge, but release.
As my daughter listed every cruel act they had inflicted on her, my vision blurred with unshed tears.
I never knew.
This was the life she’d been enduring while I was gone.
Suddenly—
“Stop this at once!”
A group of teachers came running in, their faces filled with panic.
“Are you insane?!” one of them shouted. “Do you know who you just hit?!”
Two of them hurried to help Savannah, who was wailing incoherently, her face swollen beyond recognition.
Whispers spread through the crowd. Teachers, students, even janitors had gathered.
Some gasped. Others just stared in disbelief.
“It’s over,” one muttered. “Call the principal—this is big.”
I stood there, arms crossed, utterly calm.
Let them panic.
They had all known what was happening.
They’d turned a blind eye, bowed to power, and let my daughter suffer.
One teacher scowled at Amanda.
“Amanda again! You’re always causing trouble. I’m expelling you right now!”
My daughter’s eyes widened in fear, and I immediately stepped in front of her.
“Touch her, and I’ll sue you so hard you won’t work in education again.”
I narrowed my eyes. “On what grounds do you expel her? What rule did she break?”
A teacher in glasses looked me up and down with disdain.
“Do you have any idea who Savannah is?” he scoffed. “You dared to lay a hand on her? Are you trying to die?”
“Her father is Graham, president of Blake Enterprises. He owns half of Ridgeport. He could crush you like an ant.”
