And so, in a quiet corner of the retirement community’s garden, two women, one old and one young, both victims of domestic violence, plotted their counterattack.
“According to Mr. Lou, the most important thing right now is to gather evidence,” I explained. “Your words in court can be denied, but evidence cannot. Do you understand?”
“Evidence?”
“First, from now on, whenever he verbally abuses or threatens you, find a way to secretly record it on your phone. Just keep your phone in your pocket with the recording app already running. Second, every time he lays a hand on you, even if it’s just a slap or a small bruise, you must immediately go to the bathroom, lock the door, and take a picture of the injury. Send those pictures to a secret email address that only you and I know. Third, start keeping a diary. Document every single abusive word and action every single day. And finally, and this is very important, you must try to find and photograph all documents related to his finances and income, employment contracts, bank statements, property deeds, anything you can find. This is to counter his threat of leaving you with nothing.”
Clara’s face turned pale.
“What if he finds out?”
“I know this is dangerous,” I said. “But freedom is never free. You have to be brave. Just this one time.”
My words seemed to strike a chord deep inside her. She nodded, her expression shifting from fear to determination.
“There’s one last step,” I said. “After we have enough evidence, you must be the one to formally ask for a divorce.”
Clara trembled.
“He’ll kill me. He’ll go insane.”
“I know, but that is when he is most likely to reveal his true monstrous nature. You don’t have to confront him. You just have to say the words and then do whatever it takes to get out of that house immediately. Run to a friend’s place or take a cab straight here to me. Mr. Lou and I will handle the rest. We will use his rage against him in court.”
That afternoon, when Clara left, she still looked afraid, but she was no longer desperate. There was purpose in her step, a plan in her eyes. She was transforming from a passive victim into a reluctant warrior, returning to the lion’s den to gather weapons for the final battle of her life.
The following days were the longest of my life. I lived in a state of constant anxiety, my phone always in my hand. Every email from Clara’s secret account made my heart clench.
A photo of a bruised arm. An audio file of Julian screaming the most vile insults at his wife. A short diary entry:
“He hit me again today because I accidentally broke a bowl.”
Each piece of evidence was a knife in my heart. But it was also a brick paving the road to my daughter-in-law’s freedom.
I forwarded everything to Mr. Lou. He said we already had more than enough to win the case. We just needed one last thing: for Clara to officially ask for a divorce to light the final fuse.
After nearly two weeks of evidence gathering, the day finally came. In the morning, I received a text message from Clara.
“Mom, I’m going to tell him tonight.”
That day, I couldn’t sit still. I prayed for her safety. By evening, my heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest. I stared at my phone, waiting.
Around 10:00 at night, my phone rang. It was Clara’s number. I snatched it up.
“Hello, Clara. How are you?”
“Mom…”
The voice on the other end was trembling and frantic.
“I… I told him.”
“What did he do? Did he do anything to you?”
“He… he…”
Clara’s words were cut off by a scream, followed by Julian’s furious roar.
“Who do you think you’re calling? Give me the phone.”
Then came the sound of something smashing, and the line went dead.
“Clara. Clara!”
I yelled desperately into the phone, but was met with only a cold, dead tone. My hands and feet went numb. Cold sweat dripped down my back.
I knew something had happened.
I redialed again and again, dozens of times, but no one answered. I imagined the horrifying scene unfolding in that condo, the scene I had witnessed once before. My son, the monster in human skin, was torturing his wife.
About half an hour later, my phone rang again. This time, it was from Julian’s number. I answered with a trembling hand.
“Hello, Mom.”
The voice on the other end was ice-cold, filled with rage and menace.
“What have you been telling her? Who gave you the right to incite my wife to cause trouble? Are you trying to tear my family apart?”
“Julian, what are you doing? You can’t hurt Clara.”
He let out a cold laugh.
“Hurt her? I’m just teaching my wife a lesson. I’ve given her a lesson she’ll never forget. Let’s see if she ever dares to mention divorce again.”
Then his voice turned cruel.
“And you—you listen to me. From this day on, I won’t let her take a single step out of this house, and she will never see you again. You just stay put in that retirement home.”