The burns were clear—red, swollen, deliberate. Not the kind of marks from a quick accident.
I asked who did it.
She whispered, “Grandma.”
And the worst part?
Her grandmother didn’t deny it.
She stood there, composed, explaining that she had “taught her a lesson” for taking bread before dinner. That it was better to learn discipline early than grow up thinking it was okay to take what didn’t belong to her.
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