I saw my brother-in-law get into my newly purchased car as if it belonged to him. “Give me back the keys,” I said, trembling, but my mother-in-law called me “ungrateful,” and seconds later, a brutal kick to the stomach changed my life forever.

During the silent drive back to our apartment, he actually had the audacity to try and justify his family’s monstrous behavior.

“My dad was just angry and he didn’t really mean to cause any permanent physical harm to you,” he argued weakly.

I turned to look at him with a burning fury that I did not know I was capable of feeling toward another human being.

“He attacked me while your mother pinned me down and your brother tried to steal my property,” I shouted at him.

He swallowed hard and gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned a ghostly shade of white.

“I just froze up because I didn’t know how to handle the situation,” he claimed while refusing to meet my gaze.

“You didn’t freeze, Owen, you made a conscious choice not to defend your wife,” I corrected him with biting clarity.

The moment we walked through the front door, I locked myself in the bathroom and allowed the silent tears to finally flow in front of the mirror.

My reflection showed a woman who was pale and broken with eyes that were swollen from the trauma of the last few hours.

I opened my purse and pulled out the folder containing the legal documents for my new vehicle to remind myself of my own strength.