I picked Kay up every other Sunday at 6 p.m. from Jacques’s house. But last week when I knocked, Kay didn’t run to the door like she usually does.
I found her in the living room, wearing Jacques’s oversized hoodie, facing away from me. Cassie, Jacques’s girlfriend, stood there grinning. “We had some girl time at my shop.”
Kay twisted away when I tried to hug her.
Something was very wrong. “Take off your hoodie, sweetie,” I said gently. She shook her head, tears starting to form in her eyes.
Cassie laughed, a sharp, unpleasant sound. “Show your mom your surprise.” When Kay wouldn’t move, Cassie herself yanked the hoodie up. There it was.
Three large, intricate symbols running down my nine-year-old daughter’s back. Black, green, and red ink, still covered in plastic wrap. The skin beneath was angry and inflamed.
Cassie has always been trying to be the “cool” stepmom. She owns a marking parlor downtown, keeps buying Kay inappropriate clothing, and teaches her to wear makeup. Jacques thinks it’s harmless, but this crossed every conceivable line.
“She said she wanted to be tough, like in the movies,” Cassie said breezily. “It means she’s a warrior now.” She showed me her phone proudly. It was a video of Kay crying, trying to pull away from the table while Jacques held her shoulders and Cassie worked the needle.
“Stop being such a baby,” Cassie’s voice in the video taunted. “These symbols mean you’re strong.”
Kay’s small voice begged, “I don’t want to be strong! I want to go home!
It hurts, please, Cassie!”
But Cassie was laughing. “Pain only makes you stronger.” She deliberately pressed her needle harder, drawing louder screams from my daughter. I scooped Kay into my arms immediately.
She sobbed into my shoulder. Jacques suddenly appeared from the kitchen, beer in hand. “Why are you being dramatic again?”
“You call your girlfriend putting these symbols on our nine-year-old daughter dramatic?” I shot back, my voice shaking with rage.
He just shrugged. “They’re just some Japanese symbols. She watches that anime stuff anyway.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“Do you have any idea what these symbols mean? They’re gang markings. You let her put gang markings on our child!”
Jacques rolled his eyes.
“You’re being prejudiced. It’s just Asian art.”
“It’s body modification of a minor. It’s an act of harm,” I seethed, heading for the door.
Cassie blocked my path. “You can’t just take her. It’s still Jacques’s custody time for another thirty minutes.”
“Watch me.”
Jacques grabbed my arm.
“You’re overreacting, like always. This is why we divorced.”
I scoffed at him, pulling my arm free. “No, we divorced because you’re a worthless father who lets his girlfriend harm our child.” I pushed past them to my car, Kay clinging to me.
Cassie followed, shouting, “She wanted it! She begged for it!”
I looked right at her, and in that moment, an idea sparked. I transformed my face, forcing a bright, genuine smile.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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