“Ma’am, you just threw hot boiling food at these people, and this man suffered burns while shielding his wife, so stop downplaying severe domestic abuse,” the officer stated firmly.
While paramedics treated the burns across my neck and chest, I accompanied an officer into my mother’s bedroom.
Using my spare master key, I opened the cabinet.
Inside the locked drawer, hidden beneath a wool scarf, was an old smartphone I’d lent Carmen months earlier.
It was still connected to my cloud account.
Later that night, after speaking with my attorney, I accessed the synchronized backups.
More than thirty videos were saved there.
In one, Jessica was on her knees scrubbing tile grout with a tiny brush while Carmen mocked her from behind the camera.
“Just look at her complaining about being tired when her hard-working husband fully supports her every single day,” Carmen laughed in the recording.
