Marcus dropped his duffel bag the moment he crossed the threshold into his own bedroom, his eyes immediately drawn to Rachel, seated on the edge of the bed in a maroon dress, one hand pressed protectively over her pregnant belly, the other attempting, unsuccessfully, to pull her sleeve down over a set of visible red scratches marking her upper arm.
Behind her, positioned uncomfortably near the doorway, stood Rachel's father, her stepmother in a robe, and a uniformed police officer whose expression carried the particular careful neutrality of someone documenting a situation rather than actively intervening in it.
"Rachel." Marcus crossed the room in several quick strides, dropping to his knees beside the bed, his hands hovering gently near her injured arm without quite touching it, his voice carrying a controlled urgency he rarely allowed himself to display. "Who did this to you?"
Rachel's face crumpled entirely at the sound of his voice, tears spilling faster now, her earlier attempt at composure collapsing completely. "Dad, please," she said quietly, though whether the plea was directed at her father or simply an exhausted attempt to avoid further confrontation, Marcus couldn't immediately tell.