My husband punched me to the kitchen floor. My 4-year-old ran to me—his grandma stood behind him with a switch, smirking.

The next morning, the doctor cleared Leo to leave the hospital.

He was groggy, his steps wobbly, but he refused to let anyone carry him except me.

“I’m a big boy,” he said, even as he stumbled over his own feet.

I held his hand tight, my other arm wrapped around his waist to steady him.

The security team followed close behind as we walked out to the waiting black SUV.

People stared as we passed.

I knew what they saw.

A young woman with a bruised jaw and a limp, holding a little boy with a bandaged head and a black eye.

I kept my head high.

I had nothing to be ashamed of.

We went straight from the hospital to the courthouse for the arraignment.

Mr. Hale met us at the door, a fresh stack of papers in his hand.

He knelt down to Leo’s level, his face softening.

“Hey, buddy,” he said.

“I brought you something.”

He pulled a small toy dinosaur out of his pocket—T-Rex, Leo’s favorite.

Leo’s face lit up.

He took the toy, clutching it to his chest.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice shy.

Mr. Hale ruffled his hair.

“Anytime. Now, your mom and I have to go talk to the judge for a few minutes, okay? My assistant Sarah is gonna wait with you right here. She has cookies.”

Leo looked up at me, his eyes wide.

“Cookies?”

I smiled, kissing the top of his head.

“Go on, baby. I’ll be right back. I promise.”

He nodded, then took Sarah’s hand and let her lead him to a bench down the hall.

Inside the courtroom, my hands started shaking again.

David and Helen were brought out in handcuffs, wearing orange jail jumpsuits.

They looked terrible.

David’s hair was a mess, his face puffy from sleeping on a jail cell floor.

Helen’s makeup was gone, her hair greasy, her eyes red from crying all night.

When they saw me, David’s face twisted with rage.

Helen started sobbing again, loud and fake, but the judge just glared at her.

“Silence in my courtroom,” he said, his voice booming.

Helen snapped her mouth shut.

The DA stood up first, laying out the charges.

He played a 10-minute clip of the video from my kitchen cameras.

The sound of David’s screams.

The sound of Leo begging him to stop.

The sickening crack of Leo’s head hitting the wall.

The sound of David’s boot pressing into my throat.

The courtroom was dead quiet as the video played.

I saw the court reporter wince.

I saw the judge’s jaw tighten.

When the video ended, no one spoke for a full minute.

Then David’s public defender stood up.

She was a young woman, her face tight, like she hated having to be there.

“Your Honor,” she said, “my clients are hardworking, upstanding members of this community. This is an unfortunate misunderstanding. Mrs. Carter has been under a great deal of stress lately, and she has fabricated these allegations to gain an upper hand in what was already a contentious divorce—”

Mr. Hale cut her off, standing up so fast his chair scraped the floor.

“Objection, Your Honor. There is no divorce filed. And there is no fabrication. We have three months of footage. Footage of Mr. Carter beating his wife 17 separate times. Footage of Ms. Carter hitting the child with that bamboo switch on four separate occasions. We have bank records proving Mrs. Carter paid every single bill in that household for five years while her husband spent his paychecks on alcohol and gambling. We have statements from 12 neighbors who heard screaming coming from that house night after night and were too afraid to call the police. This is not a misunderstanding. This is five years of systematic torture of a woman and her child.”

He turned to the judge, his voice hard.

“Your Honor, these two are a flight risk and a clear danger to the victims. We ask that bail be denied entirely.”

The judge didn’t even hesitate.

He banged his gavel once.

“Bail is denied. The defendants will remain in custody until trial. Case is set for three months from today. Court adjourned.”

David started yelling, screaming that this was a travesty, that I’d paid off the judge.

The bailiffs dragged him out of the courtroom, his arms flailing.

Helen followed, sobbing for real now, screaming that she was sorry, that she’d never do it again.

I didn’t feel bad for her.

Not even a little.

I thought of Leo’s small body crumpled on the kitchen floor.

I thought of the blood running down his forehead.

They deserved every second of what was coming to them.

Outside the courtroom, Leo ran to me as soon as he saw me.

“Mommy! Sarah gave me two cookies! Chocolate chip!”

He held up a half-eaten cookie, crumbs all over his shirt.

I laughed, picking him up and spinning him around.

My ribs ached, but I didn’t care.

“That’s amazing, baby,” I said.

Mr. Hale walked over, smiling.

“Good news,” he said.

“I’ve already had the team start packing up your things from the house. We’re donating the furniture to a shelter—no point in keeping any of it. The private jet is fueled and ready at the airport. We can leave for Miami tonight, whenever you’re ready.”

Miami.

My father’s city.

The place I’d grown up.

The place I’d run from five years earlier, desperate to be someone other than the billionaire’s daughter.

Now it was the only place I wanted to be.

I looked down at Leo, who was now making his T-Rex eat the rest of his cookie.