February 15, 10:17 p.m.
Girl: I can’t take it anymore.
22:18
Friend: What happened?
22:19
Daughter: Dad yelled at me again. He said if Mom found out even one word, he’d make us both regret it…
22:21
Friend: My God, you’re scaring me… Did he hit you?
22:22
Girl: Yes… it’s not the first time. I have a bruise on my arm. I tell Mom it was at school, but… I’m scared.
22:24
Friend: You have to tell your mother or go to the police, it’s too serious!
22:26
Girl: He said he’d kill me if I spoke. I believe him. When he gets angry, he’s scary…
22:28
Friend: But you can’t keep all this to yourself…
Girl: I’m telling you because I can’t tell anyone else. If anything happens to me, remember: it was him.
These sentences burned my hands like fire. Each message was etched in my memory. I read them over and over again, and images came flooding back: her frightened look, her withdrawal over the past few months.
Then I realized what I had been refusing to believe: my daughter hadn’t left of her own free will. She had become the victim of the person I considered closest to me.