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.

“One more thing. Your husband has asked to speak with you.”

I looked at him.

“About what?”

“He says he wants to explain his side and discuss what happens to your family.”

I thought about my daughter’s question.

Is Daddy mad at me?

I thought about my father lying unconscious on the bedroom floor.

And I thought about the hammer.

“No,” I said. “He can speak through his attorney.”

The detective nodded.

It was the first decision I had made in a long time without worrying about whether my husband would approve.

And it felt like the beginning of my life returning to me.

Two days later, my husband called from custody through the permitted phone system.

I almost ignored the call.

But I wanted to hear what he would say when he could no longer intimidate me in person.

I answered.

For several seconds, neither of us spoke.