It was Friday night. My husband, the regional sales director, was trying to suck up to a major client. To seal the deal, he took a photo of our 18-year-old daughter’s period-stained underwear and posted it to a business networking group chat with over 300 men. "Look, the little money-drain I've been raising at home is finally ripe," he typed. "This is what we call 'seeing red for good luck.' I guarantee we'll sign that contract tonight!" The group chat immediately exploded with jeers and crude jokes. "Hey Mark, that's an untouched, mint-condition model! You’ll be able to ask for a massive dowry for that one later, huh?" My hands were shaking violently as I read the messages. My daughter, hiding in the bathroom, sent me a single voice memo. "Mom, I don't want to live anymore." For years, I had swallowed my pride and endured his drunken embarrassments just to save his face. But this time, he had raised his butcher's knife against my daughter. I turned around, walked into the kitchen, and grabbed the freshly sharpened boning knife. I slipped it into my purse. Twenty minutes later, I kicked open the heavy double doors of the private VIP room at the luxury hotel where he was hosting his "celebratory banquet." ...... The deafening crash of the doors hitting the wall made the crystal glasses in the room rattle. A suffocating wave of cigar smoke and stale liquor hit my face. The men's loud, raucous laughter died instantly. In the center of the room, Mark was holding up his phone, his face flushed red with alcohol, fawning over an obese man sitting at the head of the table. "Mr. Lewis, look at how vibrant that color is! An eighteen-year-old, totally untouched! This is a genuine good omen. If you sign this contract, your business will definitely boom!" The man called Mr. Lewis, his face practically melting with fat, narrowed his beady eyes at the phone screen. A mixture of drool and whiskey dribbled from the corner of his mouth. "Mark, you're a real player! This is a fantastic omen. So damn spicy!" The surrounding group of "elite" salesmen started cheering him on. "Nobody does it like Director Mark! Willing to put his own daughter on the line for the sake of the numbers! Now that's a man who gets things done!" My eyes bypassed all of them, locking dead onto the photo that was currently being AirDropped to a large iPad on a side table. It was my eighteen-year-old daughter, Mia. She was suffering from severe period cramps for the first time and had curled up in bed, crying as she sent me that photo asking for help. That pair of pink cotton panties, stained with bright red blood, was now being paraded around like a sick joke, nakedly displayed in front of this room full of disgusting men. A cold, terrifying numbness spread down the back of my neck. "S-Sarah?" Mark finally realized who had kicked the door open. The sleazy smile froze on his face, quickly twisting into embarrassed rage. "You crazy bitch! Who told you to come here?! Can't you see I'm entertaining important clients?! Get the hell out!" He slammed his phone face-down on the table and stood up, moving to shove me out the door. "Delete the photo." My hand was locked around the handle of the knife in my purse. "What did you say?" Mark acted like he had just heard a hilarious joke. He turned to his pack of sleazebag friends and laughed. "See? This is what they mean by 'women have long hair but short sight'! Typical female soft-heartedness!" He turned back to me, jabbing a thick finger hard against my forehead. "Sarah, let me spell it out for you. That photo is the key to unlocking this deal tonight! I raised Mia. She eats my food, she lives in my house. Shouldn't she contribute a little surplus value back to me? As long as Mr. Lewis is happy, forget a photo of her underwear—if I told her to come down here right now and pour his drinks, she should consider it a blessing!" "Yeah, come on, Sarah." A younger subordinate wearing glasses chimed in from the side. "Director Mark is doing this for the family. This is a five-million-dollar contract. What's a little sacrificed privacy compared to that?" "Sacrificed?" I stared at Mark's greasy, sweaty face. "Why don't you post your own filthy, disgusting secrets to the group chat and sacrifice those? That is your biological daughter! She's only eighteen!" "So what if she's eighteen? Eighteen makes her a legal adult!" Mark was losing his patience, his voice rising to a shout. "College girls these days will take out loans using naked photos as collateral just to buy a designer bag! I just borrowed one little picture. It's not like she lost a piece of flesh! But look at you—standing there looking like a hanged ghost. You're bringing bad luck to my table! Get out!" At the head of the table, Mr. Lewis was starting to look annoyed. He slammed his whiskey glass down heavily. "Mark, are we drinking or what? If you can't even keep your own woman in line, maybe we shouldn't be signing this contract after all." "No, no, no, Mr. Lewis, please!" Mark panicked instantly, spinning around and bowing apologetically. "I'll handle it right now! I'll handle it! The old ball-and-chain is hitting menopause, her brain isn't working right!" With that, he turned back to me. His face contorted with dark malice. He raised his hand and slapped me across the face with everything he had. "You ungrateful bitch! I said get out!" The entire left side of my face swelled up instantly, five bright red finger marks burning into my skin. The private room erupted in cheers and applause. My head was thrown to the side by the force of the blow, my messy hair falling over my eyes. My phone vibrated in my purse. It was a voice memo from Mia. I played it. There was no talking. Just the sound of muffled sobbing and running water. I whipped my head back around. My right hand shot into my purse and ripped out the boning knife with lightning speed. A flash of cold steel. "AHHHH!" Before Mark could pull his hand back from slapping me, I drove the knife straight through it, pinning his hand violently to the solid wood dining table! "AHHHH! MY HAND! MY HAND!" His blood-curdling screams drowned out the cheers in the room. Mark convulsed in agony. The blade had sliced through flesh and bone, embedding itself deep into the wood. The slightest movement sent blinding, excruciating pain shooting up his arm. Blood quickly soaked the pristine white tablecloth. "She's trying to kill him! Murder!" The "elite" salesmen who had just been cheering were now terrified out of their minds. The young guy with glasses fell backward onto his ass, a dark wet stain spreading across the crotch of his pants. Mr. Lewis dropped his glass, it shattered on the floor, the fat on his face trembling violently. "She's insane! You're all insane! Call the cops! Call 911!" The room dissolved into absolute chaos, but I ignored it all. I stepped forward, grabbed Mark by the hair, and forced his head up to look at me. "Does it hurt?" I asked him, my voice barely above a whisper. "When you posted Mia's photo for these animals to fantasize over, did you wonder if it hurt her? Did you ever stop to think how she's supposed to face the world after this?!" "Sarah! I'm going to kill you! I'll kill you!" Mark's eyes were bulging from the pain, his facial features contorted. "You dare touch me?! I'm the Regional Director! I'm the pillar of this family! You eat my food, you drink my water! You're nothing but a dog I keep on a leash!" "Well, today I'm going to show you what it feels like to be bitten to death by a dog." I yanked the knife out of the table. Blood splattered across my face. Mark let out an even more agonizing howl, clutching his mangled hand as he rolled onto the floor. I raised the knife, fully intending to stab him again, but several hotel security guards burst into the room and tackled me, pinning me hard against the floor. I watched as Mark was helped up. He was screaming in pain while simultaneously roaring at me like a madman. "Lock this crazy bitch up! Let her rot in prison! I'm going to make her wish she was dead!" I didn't cry. I just kept my eyes locked onto the iPad screen. Mia's photo was still there. Half an hour later, I was handcuffed to a chair in the local police precinct. Mark's hand was bandaged up like a mummy. He stood in the mediation room, spit flying from his mouth as he yelled. "Officer, this was attempted murder! I'm the victim here! She used a ten-inch boning knife! That crazy bitch was trying to kill me!" The officer taking the statement looked at my stained maternity shirt, then at the baby pacifier sticking out of my purse, and frowned. "A domestic dispute triggered by severe emotional distress does not meet the threshold for attempted murder." The older officer tapped his pen on the desk. "However, Mrs. Sarah, the fact that you assaulted him with a deadly weapon is undeniable. Based on the medical evaluation, this qualifies as aggravated assault with a deadly weapon. If the victim refuses to drop the charges, you are going to prison." "I refuse!" Mark roared viciously. "I absolutely refuse! I'm not just going to send her to prison, I'm going to sue her for every dime of my medical bills and lost wages! This hand is the hand I use to sign million-dollar contracts! It's ruined now! Who's going to compensate me for my lost commissions?!" Just then, the door to the mediation room opened. A woman in a sharp business suit walked in. It was Chloe, the legal counsel for Mark's company—and the "close confidante" he spent an awful lot of time flirting with. "Director Mark." She didn't even glance at me. She walked straight over to Mark and whispered something in his ear. Mark's expression shifted, and a dark, venomous smile crept across his face. "Fine. Let's put the prison talk on hold for a second." He walked over and looked down at me, waving his bandaged hand. "Sarah, I won't press charges. But I have one condition." "That contract fell through, and Mr. Lewis is furious. You are going to go to his hotel right now, drop to your knees, and kowtow three times. Then, you're going to have that brat Mia go to his room, have dinner with him, and apologize personally. If you do that, we'll call it even." I snapped my head up, staring daggers at this absolute monster. "In your dreams." "Dreams?" Mark sneered. He pulled out his phone and tapped on a video he had just received. "Take a look for yourself. This isn't a dream." The video was from a hospital. Mia was lying on a gurney, her wrists covered in blood, being rushed into the ER resuscitation room. That photo of her had already been frantically forwarded by the men in that group chat. Someone had even posted it to her college's anonymous forum. The caption was vile. [The supposed 'pure' campus beauty's explicit photos leaked. Turns out she's just a cheap slut.] "Your sister called the ambulance. But I cut off the medical payments." Mark leaned down, his voice an evil whisper in my ear. "Sarah, you can try to be tough. But your daughter doesn't have the time. Without my signature, all your credit cards are frozen. The ER fees, the ICU bills, plus all those nasty rumors on the internet... how are you going to fix any of that?" "You're nothing but a useless housewife who only knows how to chop vegetables." "Without me, you won't even have the money to pay for your daughter's funeral." I slumped in the chair, my body completely devoid of strength. Mark and Chloe turned to leave. "You have until 8 AM tomorrow to think it over. Either agree, or get ready to bury that brat, and then rot in a cell yourself!" The police officers looked at me with pity, but procedure dictated they keep me in a holding cell for the night. It wasn't until 3 AM that my younger sister managed to scramble enough bail money together to get me out. "Sarah, what were you thinking?!" My sister's eyes were bloodshot as she drove, crying and scolding me at the same time. "Was it worth throwing your life away over that piece of trash?! Mia is in the ICU right now! They stopped the bleeding, but she hasn't woken up yet. The doctors said she lost so much blood her organs are failing. She needs transfusions, she needs rehab... it's going to cost thousands of dollars a day!" "The money..." I opened my mouth, my voice cracked and hoarse. "I'll find a way to get it." "Where are you going to get it?!" My sister sobbed in frustration. "Your cards are frozen! Mom and Dad's savings are locked up because that bastard Mark tricked them into putting it into some long-term mutual fund! They can't touch it! I only have twenty grand in my checking account, and I already spent ten grand just paying the deposit for the ER!" The city streets blurred past the window, illuminated by the sickly yellow glow of the streetlights. For the past five years, for the sake of this family, so that he could focus on his career, I had resigned from my position as a Design Director making $150,000 a year. I willingly traded my career for an apron. He had said: "I'll handle the outside world, you handle the home. You are my rock." And this is how he repaid me. He trampled my dignity behind my back, used my daughter's privacy as a cheap bargaining chip, and treated all my sacrifices like worthless garbage to be exploited. When we arrived at the hospital, they wouldn't let us into the ICU. Through the thick observation glass, I saw Mia. She looked so fragile and pale, thick bandages wrapped around her wrists, like a broken doll completely devoid of life. Her phone had been placed in a plastic belongings bag outside the room. The screen was lighting up non-stop. It was flooded with abusive text messages from her classmates, and screenshots of that photo being maliciously shared by countless strangers. [I always knew that innocent act was fake.] [How much for a night? Looks pretty intense.] [I heard your dad pimped you out? You guys have some sick family dynamics.] Every single word was designed to tear her eighteen-year-old soul to shreds. I covered my mouth and crouched in the corner of the hospital corridor, shaking uncontrollably as I wept. My sister had gone down to the cafeteria to get some breakfast. I was alone in the hallway. Suddenly, the sharp click of leather shoes echoed against the marble floor. I looked up and saw Mark walking toward me. He had changed his clothes. His arm was in a sling. Behind him was Chloe, and two massive, intimidating bodyguards. "Have you thought it over?" Mark kicked me hard in the shin. "Mr. Lewis is willing to compromise. If you go over to his hotel right now and show him a good time, he'll cover half the medical bills upfront." "And once Mia wakes up, she can go over there too!" I didn't move. I just stared dead at him. "She is our daughter. Even a tiger won't eat its own cubs." "She's a money drain! And she's not my blood anyway!" Mark suddenly exploded in rage, pointing a finger at the ICU. "What's the point of raising her?! Look at this pathetic psychological resilience—she tries to kill herself over one stupid photo?! I spent a fortune putting her through art school so she could marry into a wealthy family and get me business connections! And now look at her! You want me to waste my money saving a defective product?!" "Chloe, give her the paperwork." Chloe stepped forward and handed me a folder. "Sarah, just sign it. It's a transfer of guardianship agreement and an assumption of debt form. Director Mark is feeling generous. If you take on all his personal debts and leave the marriage with nothing, he won't press charges for aggravated assault. He'll even lend you ten grand for the hospital bills." I stared at the blood-soaked documents in my hands. So this was it. He wasn't just trying to pimp out his daughter; he was trying to bleed me dry and leave me drowning in debt for the rest of my life. "I won't sign." I used the wall to pull myself up, swaying unsteadily on my feet. "Mark, you'll have to kill me first." "You want to do this the hard way?!" Mark shot a look at the two bodyguards. "Grab her! Mr. Lewis likes his women a little unhinged anyway. I think she looks just miserable enough to suit his tastes right now! Drag her out of here!" "What are you doing?! This is a hospital! Help! Somebody help me!" The two massive men lunged forward and grabbed my arms. My sister, returning with a bag of bagels, saw what was happening and screamed, sprinting toward us. "Let go of my sister! You animals!" "Get the fuck out of the way!" Mark kicked my sister in the stomach, sending her sprawling across the floor. The two bodyguards wrenched my arms behind my back and started dragging me toward the elevators. Absolute despair swallowed me whole. This was the VIP wing. It was isolated, and Mark had clearly used his connections to get the nurses to clear the floor. Staring up at the harsh white fluorescent lights, in that moment, I just wanted to drag them all to hell with me. But Mia hadn't woken up yet. If I died, Mia would fall into the hands of this monster, and her fate would be even worse. I couldn't die. Not only could I not die, I needed to live better than any of them. I needed to make these animals pay. My hand desperately gripped the small business card hidden deep in my pocket. It belonged to the man I had ruthlessly abandoned on a rainy night, six years ago. Right as they shoved me toward the elevator doors, I summoned every ounce of strength I had and bit down viciously on Mark's wrist. He yelled in pain and let go. I used my head to smash the elevator call button, pulled out my phone, and dialed the number I had memorized long ago. It rang exactly once before it was answered. "Who is this?" I sucked in a lungful of air that smelled like blood and screamed his name into the receiver. "Liam. It's Sarah." "They're trying to kill my daughter." "Please... please save us."
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