I stepped inside his guard, stripped the chair out of his hands, and pinned him to the floor. Holding him there with one knee, I pulled out my phone and opened the camera.

“Now repeat what you just said to me,” I told him, my voice flat. “And explain who taught you that hitting a wife is a normal way to run a household.”

At first he spat insults, squirming under my weight. Then, when it became clear I had no intention of letting him up until he complied, the anger collapsed into fear.

“My mom told me to,” he whimpered into the floorboards. “She said take away your debit card, control where you go, and hit you until you obeyed.”

I reached into his front pocket and pulled out his phone. His conversation with his mother was still open. I tapped the last audio message and played it.

Camryn’s sharp voice filled the wrecked room.