My Stepdaughter Framed Me—So I Sent Her Father to Prison

"Irene's always been like this—so dramatic. One little bump and she's in tears."

"Blanche was just toughening her up."

Slap!

I set Irene down and stormed over, cracking my palm across Vincent's face.

He staggered back, hand pressed to his cheek, staring at me in disbelief.

"Margot, have you lost your mind?!"

"Maybe I have!"

I jabbed a finger toward the bruises covering Irene's body, my voice raw.

"You call this roughhousing? You call this toughening her up?"

"Vincent, are you even human?!"

"You watched this child grow up! Do you have any conscience left?!"

Vincent flinched at my fury, backing up a step.

But his shock quickly curdled into rage.

"So what do you want? You're going to tear this family apart over something this small?"

"Blanche already explained—Irene was messing around with classmates and fell on her own."

"Why don't you ask yourself why your daughter has problems? Why does everyone pick on her and no one else?"

I looked at this man I'd shared a bed with for ten years and felt nothing but disgust.

Where was the gentle, attentive husband who used to dote on me and Irene?

Or had this been who he really was all along?

"Fine. That's just fine."

I laughed bitterly, wiping my tears.

"Vincent, if you won't handle this, I will."

"Starting today, you and your daughter don't get another cent from me."

"And I'm going to find out exactly what happened at that school."

"You touched my daughter. I'll make you pay for it."

I helped Irene to her feet and walked out.

"Where are you taking her?" Vincent panicked, reaching to stop me.

"To the hospital! To document her injuries!"

I shoved past him and didn't look back at that suffocating house.

Behind me, Vincent shouted, his voice cracking with fury:

"Margot! If you walk out that door, don't bother coming back!"

"And if Blanche suffers because of this, you and I are finished!"

I let out a cold laugh.

Finished?

Good. I wasn't planning on letting this go either.

In the car, Irene clutched the hem of my shirt, crying softly.

"Mom, did I cause trouble for you?"

"Dad said if I didn't behave, you wouldn't want me anymore..."

My heart shattered. I pulled her closer.

"That's not true. I will never stop wanting you."

"Irene, from now on, Mommy's going to protect you."

"Everyone who hurt you—I won't let a single one of them get away with it."

At the hospital, the doctor's frown deepened as he treated Irene's wounds.

"These are all soft tissue contusions. She also has a mild concussion."

"What kind of parenting is this? The child was beaten this badly before anyone brought her in?"

Shame burned through me. All I could do was apologize.

Looking at the bandages wrapped around Irene's small body, the hatred inside me grew.

The next morning, my phone rang again.

It was the homeroom teacher.

Her tone was curt:

"Ms. Fox, you need to bring Irene to the school immediately."

"Blanche has reported that Irene stole a valuable item from her. We need you here to sort this out."

Stealing?

How bold—filing a complaint before I could.

I took Irene to the school.

The moment we stepped into the office, I saw Blanche lounging on the sofa, surrounded by several teachers fussing over her like she was royalty.

She clutched a tissue in her hand, eyes red-rimmed, playing the victim for all she was worth.

Vincent was there too, standing beside Blanche, speaking to the homeroom teacher with a grave expression.