My son h.i.t me 30 times in front of his wife… so the next morning, while he sat in his office, I sold the house he thought was his.

Part 3 (continued)
“Yes,” I said. “He hit me thirty times. I counted.”

The line was quiet for a moment. Then Deputy Collins said, gently, “Ma’am, I’m sorry. Are you willing to give a statement?”

“I am.”

It was the hardest word I had
ever said about my son. It was also the first one in years that felt like standing on solid ground.

Deputy Collins came to the house himself. He photographed my face and my ribs. He wrote down every word without once looking at me the way people look at old women, as if I might break or fog over. When he finished, I handed him a copy of the security footage from the dining room. Trevor and Kristen had never noticed that the cameras in that house, like the house

itself, belonged to Cedarline Capital. Howard had pulled the files that morning.

“It’s all here,” Collins said quietly, watching it on his tablet. “Every blow.”