Two police officers walked into the house, followed by the nurse who had cared for me in the emergency room.
Ethan stared at them.
«What is this supposed to mean?» he demanded. «She’s my wife. This is a private family matter.»
The older officer looked at me sitting on the floor, then noticed the red mark already forming on my face.
«No,» he replied. «It stopped being private the moment you hit her.»
Ethan immediately pointed at my father.
«He’s the one who attacked me first.»
My father released Ethan’s wrist and took a step back.
«I stopped the second blow,» he said calmly. «The first one was recorded.»
Margaret turned toward the entrance.
That was when she noticed the small security camera mounted above the front door.
Ethan had installed it himself a few months earlier, convinced that delivery drivers were stealing his packages.
Whenever the front door was open, the camera recorded the living room.
It had captured everything.
My return from the hospital.
Their questions about dinner.
The papers being knocked out of my hands.
The slap.
The raised fist.
Margaret’s face turned pale.
«That camera doesn’t record sound,» she said quickly.
