Chapter 2 - The Evidence
The ER doctor's face was grim. We were in a private room at the local hospital. Chloe was hooked up to an IV, finally warm, sleeping soundly under three heated blankets.
"Severe hypothermia, dehydration, and the bruising... it's consistent with a blunt force grip," the doctor said quietly. "If you had come home even twelve hours later..." He didn't need to finish the sentence.
While Chloe slept, I pulled out my laptop and inserted the memory card Grandpa Vance had hidden in the leather pouch. My hands shook as I clicked on the first video file.
It was security footage from the living room camera Marcus thought he had disabled. The screen flickered to life, showing my husband—the man I had promised my life to—grabbing Chloe by the arms and shoving her forcefully toward the garage.
"You're not a real Vance! You're just some charity case she brought into this house!" Marcus's voice hissed through the speakers. Chloe was crying, begging him to stop. Then, his father stepped into the frame, trying to intervene, only for Marcus to shove him back. "Keep your mouth shut, old man, or I'll put you in a home faster than you can blink."
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Marcus dragged my weeping seven-year-old into the freezing shed and slammed the heavy padlock shut.
I paused the video. A tear slipped down my cheek, hot and furious. Marcus was going to pay. Not just with his freedom, but with everything he valued. The seventy-two-hour clock had started the moment he locked that shed.
