Chapter 6 - A Desperate Move
I stared endlessly at the blank digital screen, feeling a crushing, suffocating wave of absolute despair wash over me.
Mitchell had obviously realized his critical mistake and rapidly erased the footage to legally protect his own skin.
Without that specific video file, it was just my weak word against a massively wealthy and politically powerful family.
Absolutely no one in the justice system would believe that a frantic mother fleeing with her child was the real, legitimate victim here.
Then, a sudden, brilliant spark of memory flashed brightly in the very back of my panicked mind.
When I had first set up the hidden camera two long years ago, I had cautiously linked it to an old, completely forgotten email address of mine.
It was automatically programmed by default to send backup thumbnails and short video clips to that obscure inbox every single night at midnight.
I could not possibly access that specific, outdated email from my current smartphone without triggering a frustrating two-factor security lock.
I desperately needed a standard desktop computer situated on a public network to successfully bypass the strict verification protocol.
I drove relentlessly through the early morning light until I finally reached the small, quiet town where Sarah's elderly aunt currently lived.
Aunt Martha was a sweet, incredibly tough retired army nurse who warmly welcomed us into her home with open, loving arms.
I tearfully left my precious Daisy in her capable care, knowing deep down she would be perfectly safe and protected there.
I instantly drove my car directly to the local public library the very second the doors opened for the day.
I quickly located a solitary computer terminal situated in the very back corner, completely hidden away from the large glass windows.
My nervous fingers flew rapidly across the sticky plastic keyboard as I desperately logged into the old, forgotten email account.
To my immense, overwhelming relief, the unread backup video files were sitting right there at the very top of the cluttered inbox.
I quickly inserted a cheap, newly purchased USB drive into the computer tower and frantically clicked the download button.
The green progress bar slowly and agonizingly crept across the glowing computer monitor.
Just as the crucial download finally reached exactly ninety-nine percent, a dark, menacing shadow violently fell over my small desk.
A heavy, terrifyingly familiar masculine hand clamped down fiercely and painfully onto my left shoulder.
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I slowly and fearfully turned my head to look up at the person standing over me.
My abusive husband Mitchell was standing right behind me with a sickening smile on his face.
