Chapter 3 - Gathering the Arsenal
I didn't sleep a single wink that night. Adrenaline and pure, unadulterated maternal rage coursed through my veins. I spent the hours before dawn downloading the video file to my phone, my laptop, my Google Drive, and emailing it to a secure, brand-new email address I created just for this purpose. They were not going to make this disappear.
When the sun finally peeked through the motel blinds, I woke Mia up gently. "Come on, baby girl. We have to go see a nice doctor today."
She looked at me with fearful, swollen eyes. "Are Grandma and Grandpa going to be there?"
"Never again," I promised, kissing her forehead. "I promise you, Mia. They will never, ever hurt you again."
I drove us to the nearest emergency room. I knew I needed a paper trail. When the triage nurse called us back, I took a deep breath and told her exactly what happened. I showed her the massive, purple bruise blooming across my jawline where Arthur had backhanded me. I showed her the split on my lip that had finally scabbed over.
And then, I took off Mia's little knit beanie.
The nurse gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. The sheer cruelty of the shaving job—chunks of hair ripped out at the root, razor burns, and nicks on her tender scalp—was enough to make the seasoned medical professional tear up.
"I need a full physical evaluation for both of us," I said, my voice eerily calm. "And I need it meticulously documented for law enforcement."
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By noon, I had a heavy folder of medical records, photographs taken by a forensic nurse, and a card for a domestic violence advocate. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was David. He was calling for the fifth time.
I hit record on my phone's call app and answered.
