He didn’t shout.
He didn’t threaten anyone.
He simply looked at Ethan.
«How long have you been hitting her?»
Ethan shook his head.
«I don’t hit her. Tonight was the first time.»
That wasn’t true.
But I had never told anyone the truth.
The first time happened eight months after we got married.
Ethan apologized, cried, and promised it would never happen again.
The second time, he blamed stress.
After that, he stopped apologizing.
I learned to hide the bruises, delete the messages, and carefully choose my words whenever someone asked if I was happy.
My father turned to me.
He didn’t pressure me.
He simply asked,
«Do you want to tell them?»
I looked at Ethan.
He was staring at me with the same threatening look he had used for years.
Don’t humiliate me.
Don’t make this worse.
Remember what will happen when everyone leaves.
But this time, no one was going to leave.
«Yes,» I said.
My voice was weak, but that single word filled the entire room.
«It wasn’t the first time.»
Ethan’s expression changed.
«Maya, think carefully.»
My father stepped between us.
«She already has.»
I told the police about the first slap.
