Blood dripped down Sandra's chin as she stared at the man she once called her husband.
"Why do you enjoy hurting me?" she whispered, trembling.
Sergio scoffed, wiping his knuckles clean.
"Why are you so stupid to think I ever loved you?" Her voice cracked. "I did love you."
"Too bad," Sergio sneered. "I didn't. I only wanted your money."
He slammed the door behind him, leaving Sandra alone in the silence, tasting blood and salt on her lips. Four years of marriage had been nothing but torture: beatings, kicks, shocks from electrical cords, hair ripped from her scalp, and nights she couldn't bear to remember.
Sandra lay there for hours, staring at the ceiling. This ends now. She packed her bags and fled to her brother's house. When her family saw the bruises on her arms and the haunted look in her eyes, they rallied around her like a fortress.
"You're never going back to him," her brother vowed. "We'll keep you safe."
When Sergio realized she was gone, his rage was volcanic. He hunted for her, pounding on doors, threatening anyone who refused to talk. Finally, Sandra's family fed him a lie:
"She's hiding at Xavier's place."
That was the moment everything changed. Xavier, Sergio's own brother—a sharp lawyer who specialized in domestic violence cases—could barely contain his fury when he learned what Sergio had done.
He convinced Sandra to press charges. Then he called the police. When Sergio stormed up Xavier's front steps, the lights of police cruisers flashed from nowhere. Officers grabbed him before he could say a word.
At trial, photos of Sandra's bruised face and torn flesh lit up the courtroom. Videos of Sergio's violent rages left the jury pale and silent. The verdict was swift. Guilty. Life in prison.
Months later, Sandra sat in a therapist's office, sunlight pouring through the window, her voice steadier each day. She was finally free.