But Julian didn’t let the lie draw a single breath. He walked over to the small bookshelf by the television, reached behind a stack of old textbooks, and pulled out a small, modern baby monitor camera he’d bought the month before.

“It records straight to a cloud server on my phone,” Julian told the officers, his hands steady despite the rage burning in his chest. “I bought it so I could check on my wife during my long shifts at the hardware store. It has audio.”

The officers watched the footage right there on the little screen. The video didn’t lie. It showed Doña Carmen letting herself in with her own copy of the key, screaming at Mariana, dragging her out of bed by the arms, and striking her legs with a heavy wooden broom handle when Mariana collapsed from exhaustion.

The audio caught Doña Carmen’s venomous threats: “Cry all you want, you little peasant. Julian is my son. He’ll always choose my blood over your tears.”

The lead officer set his jaw and turned to his partner. “Cuff her.”

Doña Carmen shrieked as the steel closed around her wrists, her haughty pride evaporating into raw, ugly panic. “Julian, you coward! I gave you life! You’re tearing this family apart for a stranger!”