After learning my daughter had been crippled by her husband—and that he would face no consequences—I asked the police with an unnerving calm, "Domestic abuse isn't a crime, is it?" No one knew my history. When my daughter was five, she was mauled by a rabid dog. I kicked it to death with a single blow. At eight, she was harassed by a perverted neighbor. I beat him into a permanent disability. He’s still in a wheelchair today. At fifteen, she was cornered by local gang members. I put a knife through the gang leader's throat and critically wounded his three accomplices. I spent ten years in a maximum-security prison for that. Today was my first day of freedom. 1 The day I was released, my parole officer told me my daughter, Jessica, had been beaten into a permanent disability by her husband. She was in the ICU, fighting for her life. Her crime? She had taken an extra piece of meat at the dinner table without his permission. For that, he shattered her spleen and broke her spine. For the rest of her life, she would have to wear a colostomy bag. The perpetrator, her husband Edward, was lounging outside her hospital room, casually playing a game on his phone. "It's a husband's right to discipline his wife," he said with a shrug, not even looking up. "The day she married me, she became my property. Even if I beat her to death, the cops couldn't touch me." His voice was light, completely devoid of remorse. The wedding band on his finger glinted under the fluorescent lights, as sharp and cold as the blade I had plunged into the gang leader's throat ten years ago. I stared at him, my mind reeling. How could a husband say such things? My heart bled, and a wildfire of rage ignited in my chest. I lunged forward, ready to kill this animal, but the plainclothes officer who had escorted me grabbed my arm, hissing in my ear. "Don't be stupid, Sarah! You kill him, you'll go right back to prison!" He squeezed my arm tighter. "Do you want your daughter to be without a mother for the rest of her life?" His words hit me like a physical blow. My fist fell, limp and powerless, to my side. Seeing my fight drain away, Edward sneered and flicked a business card at my face. "You want to sue me? Go ahead. You can even hire me. I'm the best lawyer in the city." He smirked. "A backwater hick like you probably doesn't understand the law, so let me educate you. Domestic abuse isn't a felony. Even if I kill her, the law can't do a damn thing to me." He turned his back to me, his voice growing more arrogant. "I never saw her as anything more than a placeholder when I married her. A common woman with no family to back her up? She's lucky a lawyer like me even looked at her. My family has connections in the courthouse and the police department. What are you going to do about it?" He shoved me aside, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and sauntered away. He didn't know. The last person who used my daughter to threaten me was long dead. 2 I stayed by Jessica's bedside for two weeks, never leaving her side, before she finally woke from the coma. When she saw me, she stared for a few seconds, her eyes wide with disbelief, before a raw, ragged sob broke from her lips. She was a porcelain doll on the verge of shattering—her eyes swollen, her face a ghostly white. "Mom! You're really back… I missed you so much…" Her voice was a choked whisper. "I thought I'd never see you again…" Her desperate, broken words twisted a knife in my heart. I raised my hand to comfort her, but when I saw the landscape of bruises and cuts covering her body, my fingers froze in mid-air. She had always been so afraid of pain, so meticulous about her appearance. Now, that monster Edward had beaten her into a broken thing, forced to live with a colostomy bag for the rest of her days. I couldn't imagine the depths of her despair. "It's okay, Jessica. Shh, don't be afraid. Mom's back now. Mom will get you justice." A bitter, humorless smile touched her lips. Her eyes were hollow, filled with a terrifying emptiness as she looked at me. "It's useless, Mom. I've been trying to divorce that monster for years. No lawyer will take my case. Even the police are on their side." She took a shuddering breath. "They have eyes everywhere. No matter where I run, his family finds me. Every time I think I'm finally free, he hunts me down like a cat toying with a mouse and drags me back." Her voice cracked. "Mom… I don't want to live anymore." Her words felt like a hand squeezing my heart, tight and merciless. I reached out, my touch feather-light, and stroked her head, just as I had when she was a little girl. After I coaxed her to sleep, I went to the hospital director's office. I needed her official medical report, the proof I would take to the courthouse to file charges against Edward. The director's response sent my world crashing down. "Domestic disputes are complicated," he said dismissively. "It takes two to tango. If she hadn't done something to provoke him, why would he hit her?" I trembled with rage. It was abuse, pure and simple. What right did Edward have to lay a hand on her? The director waved his hand, his tone patronizing. "Edward's uncle is a judge. How do you plan to fight someone like that?" He then delivered the final blow, a veiled threat. If I dropped the matter, the family would cover all of Jessica's medical expenses. "Look, your son-in-law already spoke to us. If you cause any trouble, your daughter can't be treated here anymore. And if something… happens to her after that, don't blame us for being heartless." I stared at his ugly, smug face, a storm of fury and helplessness raging inside me. I wouldn't give up. I would get justice for my daughter, or I would die trying. The director laughed, a sound dripping with scorn. "Who is your son-in-law? He's a lawyer with power and connections. And you? You're nobody." He leaned forward. "Take my advice and give up. Go home and think about it. He's been good to your daughter, all things considered. He gave her a home. If you keep pushing this, you'll ruin what's left of her life." I clenched my fists so tightly my nails dug into my palms, drawing blood. Edward had done this to Jessica, and we were supposed to be grateful? I couldn't believe it. Was there truly no place in this world for justice? Suddenly, a nurse's frantic voice echoed from down the hall. "Code Blue! The patient in 302—she tried to kill herself!" 3 The words hit me, and the world went blank. My legs gave out from under me. I staggered to her room and pressed my face against the glass, watching the medical team swarm around my daughter's bed. My heart felt like it was being shredded. Jessica's father died when she was just a baby. It had always been just the two of us. She was my entire world. Ten years ago, when those gang members cornered her, I killed their leader and disabled the others to protect her. After I was done, I turned myself in and was sentenced to ten years. I was supposed to be released in six months, but I was granted early release for good behavior. I never wanted Jessica to know her mother was a murderer, so for a decade, I wrote letters telling her I was working in another state. For ten years, I dreamed of the day we would be reunited. And now, we had just found each other again. Was fate really so cruel as to make me bury my own child? After two agonizing hours, the doctors managed to save her. I finally let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, and feeling returned to my numb limbs. But my relief was short-lived. The doctor's next words sent a spear of ice through my heart. "She's suffering from severe depression. We can't rule out another suicide attempt." Images of Jessica's bright, youthful face flashed through my mind. That beautiful, kind girl had been pushed to the absolute brink by that monster. Swallowing my rage, I went to the police station. The answer I received there plunged me into an even deeper abyss of despair. An officer took the report, glanced at it, and shifted uncomfortably. "Your daughter's husband is a prominent lawyer. His family is very well-connected. His uncle is high up in the department. Our hands are tied." I stared at his helpless face, the brutal reality of the situation crashing down on me. Edward's power was a fortress, so high that even the police were afraid to scale its walls. I stood up and walked out of the station. The sunlight outside was blinding, but all I could see was darkness. Just then, my phone buzzed. I glanced down at the screen. A video had just been sent to me from an unknown number. It was Jessica. She was curled in a corner, her body a mosaic of purple and blue bruises, her hair a tangled mess. Her eyes were hollowed out with terror and despair. Her lips were bitten white, a trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth. I gripped my phone, my nails digging into the device, the plastic groaning under the pressure. The world spun around me, and I felt myself collapsing under the weight of it all. Then, a voice message from Edward arrived, dripping with mockery. "You wanted to report me to the police? Here's the evidence you wanted. If it's not enough, don't worry. I've got plenty more."
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