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.

Then he sighed dramatically.

“Finally. I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to stop making this worse.”

I closed my eyes.

Even now, he spoke as if I were the problem.

“Our daughter is in the hospital,” I said. “My father has a serious head injury. What exactly do you think I’m making worse?”

“You know I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“You picked up a hammer.”

“She wouldn’t listen.”

“She is seven years old.”

“She needs structure!”

“She needed you to stop.”

He fell silent.

Then his voice softened.

“Listen, I know you’re upset. But we’re married. We have a daughter. We need to handle this privately.”

I almost laughed.

“Privately? You tried to make me tell the police that my father attacked you.”

“I was panicking.”

“You tried to move the hammer.”

“I didn’t know what to do.”