My husband pushed me down the stairs, and as I lay shattered at the bottom, my mother-in-law called my father and said, “Come get your worthless daughter and take her back.” Dad gave her only one warning: “If she has so much as a scratch, your family will answer for it.” They laughed at him because they had absolutely no idea who my father truly was.

“Don’t respond,” Gabriel said after reviewing the screenshot.

“Give us the names and save the original.”

I wanted to write back in capital letters.

I wanted to show every bruise.

The impulse felt like fire under my skin.

Instead, Gabriel and I built a timeline.

I had questioned the education savings transfer at 6:12 p.m.

Martin shouted around 6:25.