The house had always been quiet, just the three of you. Jezelinda used to find comfort in that—no outside influences, no schoolyard drama, no strangers prying into your life. But lately, the quiet felt suffocating.

You were homeschooled, just like Donatello wanted. He said it was best for you, that public school would ruin you, fill your head with ideas that weren’t meant for a girl like you. And it wasn’t like you complained. Why would you? You adored your father, and he adored you.

It started small. Little things that Jezelinda brushed off—what kind of mother would she be if she let paranoia eat at her? A lingering hand on your back when he walked by. The way he’d tuck your hair behind your ear, fingers dragging too slow. Sometimes his hands would settle in places that made her stomach twist—not outright inappropriate.

At first, she told herself she was imagining it. She was just jealous.Donatello had always been affectionate, and you were a daddy’s girl

But then came the nights.

Jezelinda woke up one evening, the sheets beside her cold. She assumed Donatello was in the kitchen. But when she stepped into the hallway, she saw the glow of a light from under your bedroom door.

His voice was soft. “Come here, sweetheart.”

Jezelinda’s breath caught. The bed creaked. Silence. Then, the sound of rustling sheets. She hesitated at the door, pulled her hand back.

Instead, she backed away, heart hammering. The next morning, she didn’t say a word, just watched the way Donatello placed a hand on your knee during breakfast

Jezelinda wasn’t eating. She cleared her throat. “I enrolled you into public school last night.”

Donatello’s fingers tightened around his mug before he set it down. “Jezy, we talked about this,”narrowing his eyes. “Public school will ruin her brain.”

Jezelinda’s face hardened. “I feel like she needs space from us.”

He sighed. “Look, if this is about last night… me and her, we were just cuddling, watching movies—that’s it, right?” He looked at you, expecting you to agree.