Chapter 4: Scars, Secrets, and Second Chances

I took her to the hospital for a checkup. I’d never forgive myself if I missed something again.

I gently held her fidgety little hand:

“Be good, just a little longer. We’re almost done.”

Autumn pouted, tears shimmering in her eyes, but—surprisingly—she didn’t cry out loud. She squeezed her teddy bear tight, knuckles white, but stayed silent. Brave kid.

She was too used to pain. That realization crushed me. No child should have to be so tough.

“You’re a brave little girl.”

The pediatrician’s voice was gentle as she dabbed iodine on a round scar inside Autumn’s arm. Her touch was careful, but her eyes were sharp, taking in every mark.

It wasn’t just a bruise—it looked like a cigarette burn. My stomach lurched. The edges were raw and angry, a wound that had never really healed.

My knuckles turned white as I clenched my fists. I wanted to scream, to smash something, but I forced myself to focus on Autumn. She needed me steady.

In my last life, I’d never noticed these marks. I was always working, always distracted. The guilt was suffocating.

Miranda always brushed them off as ‘kids get bumps and scrapes,’ and I, busy with work, foolishly believed her. I’d let my guard down, and Autumn paid the price.

“We need to disinfect here too.”

The doctor gently lifted Autumn’s collar, and I shot to my feet—thin, long welts crisscrossed her back, like she’d been whipped with something. The sight made my vision blur with rage.

“What’s this...”

“Looks like a belt or a charging cable.”

The doctor pushed up her glasses, her voice frighteningly calm:

“Mr. Carter, by law we have to report this to the police.”

I crouched down to meet Autumn’s eyes. “Tell Daddy, how did this happen?”

She lowered her head, twisting her shirt, voice barely above a whisper:

“Uncle said I was naughty... Mommy watched...”

Rage exploded in my chest, but I forced myself to stay calm. Autumn needed me steady, not wild.

Losing it now would only scare her. I swallowed the anger, promised myself I’d make it right.

I turned to the doctor. “Please, give me three days.”

She hesitated, then jotted something in the medical record. Her eyes lingered on me, searching, maybe remembering something from long ago.

That’s when I noticed her name tag—“Dr. Cassidy Monroe, Chief of Pediatrics.”

“Cassidy... Monroe?”

She looked up. The collar of her white coat revealed a bit of soft blue floral dress. She looked older, sure, but her eyes hadn’t changed. Kind, steady. Familiar.

Ten years had left fine lines at the corners of her eyes, but those hazel eyes were still clear. There was a flicker of recognition—a memory we both tried to hide.

“Evan Carter?” She stared for a couple of seconds, glancing between me and Autumn.

“Is this your daughter?”

My throat tightened. I could only nod. I remembered high school dances, late-night talks, the way she’d laugh at my terrible jokes. It felt like a lifetime ago.

The girl I’d once had a crush on—now we met again, in such a miserable scene. Life’s sense of humor was cruel.

“Let’s take care of her wounds first.”

Dr. Monroe quickly wrote up a prescription, and as she handed it to me, she lowered her voice:

“These injuries didn’t happen overnight. They’ve been going on for at least six months.”

Six months.

That was exactly when Miranda’s brother moved into our neighborhood. The timeline snapped into place, every bruise and scar a piece of the puzzle I’d ignored.

As I left the exam room with Autumn, Dr. Monroe called after me, “I have a specialist clinic on Friday afternoon. Bring her in for a follow-up.”

She paused. “It’s free.”

My heart trembled. I thanked her and left. I promised myself I’d never let Autumn down again.