My husband hammered a nail into our 7-year-old daughter’s foot to force her to study instead of running, ignoring her bloody screams. When my father burst in to save her, my husband brutally smashed the heavy hammer into his head, leaving him bleeding on the floor.

“Your father is awake.”

I rushed to the intensive care unit.

My father looked pale and exhausted. A bandage covered part of his head, and monitors beeped beside his bed.

But when he saw me, he managed a faint smile.

“Hey, kiddo.”

I grabbed his hand.

“Dad.”

My voice broke.

“You scared me.”

He squeezed my fingers weakly.

“I’m sorry.”

I shook my head.

“No. Don’t apologize for saving her.”

His eyes filled with tears.

For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then I asked the question that had been haunting me.

“What did you mean when you told the dispatcher this wasn’t the first time?”

Dad looked toward the door to make sure we were alone.

Then he took a slow breath.

“Three months ago, I came by your house while you were at work. Your husband thought nobody was home, but I heard him yelling at your daughter in the study.”