A request to buy cold medicine.
A request to buy sanitary pads.
A request to buy a coat that cost less than fifty dollars.
Every single one bore his handwritten rejection.
Format does not comply with standards.
Waste of money.
Drink more hot water.
Stop playing the victim.
The stack was so heavy my fingers trembled under its weight.
I unlocked my phone and opened the voice recorder.
There it was. Every word he'd hurled at me. His order to the kidnappers to kill the hostage. His sneering contempt for my mother. Every syllable designed to grind my dignity into dust.
I opened his social media and started taking screenshots.
One post: a photo of the necklace.
The caption read: Thirty million for your smile. Worth every penny.
Another, freshly uploaded just minutes ago.
In the photo, he and Florence touched wine glasses under amber light, their faces close, the mood intimate.
The caption read: With you here, all is right in the world.
All is right in the world.
His mother was fighting for her life.
My fingers flew across the screen, organizing every last piece of evidence. Backup. Encrypt. Upload to the cloud.
When it was done, I called my mother.
After I hung up, I closed my eyes.
Three years.