Chapter 5 - The First Strike
My head snapped up, my eyes locking onto Sarah’s with sudden, razor-sharp intensity. “Cultural custom? Beating a pregnant woman with a metal rod until her baby dies is a cultural custom?”
“It’s a desperate legal defense, and it won't hold up in a Texas courtroom,” Sarah assured me quickly, placing a comforting hand over mine. “The Supreme Court and state statutes have repeatedly ruled that domestic violence and child endangerment supersede any cultural or familial defense. But it does mean Martha intends to fight dirty. She’s going to paint you as an unstable, uncooperative foreigner who brought this tragedy upon herself.”
“Let her try,” I said, my voice dropping into a cold, steady register that surprised even myself. “For five years, I let them write the narrative. I let them tell me who I was, what I was worth, and what I deserved. That woman spent every morning sharpening her tools while her son tied me to a post. I survived long enough to record every single word they said. I am not afraid of her anymore.”
Sarah smiled—a small, fierce expression of professional respect. “Good. Because the grand jury hearing is scheduled for Thursday morning, and the prosecutor wants you on the stand to play the master tapes in open court.”
The door clicked open again, and a young nurse stepped inside to check my vitals, adjusting the IV drip and murmuring words of comfort. As the nurse quietly packed up her tray and stepped back out into the hallway, my phone—now secured in a new, unbugged county device—buzzed against the nightstand.
May you like
It was an unknown number, routed through a local jail call proxy.
I picked it up, stared at the blinking screen for three long seconds, and slowly pressed the answer button, ready to hear what my husband had to say now that the cage door had finally slammed shut behind him.
