Chapter 1: The Footage
I didn’t say a word.
Not when my wife lowered the wooden spoon.
Not when my mother trembled in the corner, clutching her chest.
Not when the housekeeper wiped blood from her lip with shaking hands.
I just walked past them… straight to my study.
My wife followed, her voice sweet, almost playful.
“Baby, you came home early. You should’ve called.”
I ignored her.
Because I already knew.
Eight months ago, before leaving for Saudi Arabia, something in my gut had whispered that things weren’t right. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just… wrong.
So I installed cameras.
Not everywhere. Just enough.
Hidden. Silent. Watching.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a second before I opened the first file.
Day 1.
Nothing unusual.
Day 7.
My wife yelling.
Day 15.
My mother crying.
By Day 23… I stopped breathing.
There she was.
My wife.
Standing over my mother, forcing her to kneel on the floor.
“Say it again,” she snapped.
“I… I’m useless,” my mother whispered.
“Louder.”
“I’M USELESS!”
I slammed the laptop shut.
But it didn’t stop.
May you like
Because there were 112 days.
And every single one was worse than the last.
