His face hardened. “You’ve become cruel.”
“No,” I replied. “I’ve become free.”
He walked out, leaving the fruit behind.
The District Attorney’s office built a airtight case using the forensic medical reports, Mrs. Gable’s testimony, recorded phone calls, hospital security footage, seized documents, and Mason’s text history. Then, digital forensics uncovered something even worse: in a group chat with two friends months earlier, Mason had written that he needed to “break her spirit” to force me to drop any idea of leaving. One friend suggested hiding my money. Mason had texted back: “If she won’t learn the easy way, she’ll learn through pain.”
They could no longer claim that night was an accident.
Even so, they tried one last desperate act of intimidation. Beatrice called from untraceable numbers, threatening to show up at the elementary school where my mother worked. Mason sent an even direct threat: if I didn’t drop the charges within seventy-two hours, he would make sure my parents’ house burned down.
