I could feel the weight of the voice recorder in my pocket, a silent testament to the months I had spent preparing for this very moment. Two months of recording conversations, documenting actions, and gathering enough evidence—evidence that I hoped would finally make them see the truth of the situation. I had been meticulous, patient, and above all, determined.

The officer glanced at me, and I nodded. “I have evidence of a repeated pattern of abuse,” I said, my voice steady and clear, though my heart was pounding beneath my calm exterior. “And this afternoon… when I was pushed down the steps… it was the last time.”

Jeffrey’s expression hardened, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of the son I used to know. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared. He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re seriously doing this, Mom?” he scoffed. “On Christmas Day?”