“That Money Belongs To The Family,” Dad Roared, Swinging The Metal Wrench Into My Face. My Jawbone Br0ke In Four Places, Teeth Scattering Across The Driveway. I Photographed Everything Before Losing Consciousness. The Craniofacial ᴛʀᴀᴜᴍᴀ Consortium Convened… “Fourteen Surgeons Reviewing Weapon ᴀssᴀᴜʟᴛ With Permanent Disfigurement – Aggravated Battery Documentation.”

I hit the “upload” button to my cloud drive just as the sound of sirens began to wail in the distance, growing louder until the red and blue lights filled the street.

The next few days were a blur of sterile white ceilings, the smell of antiseptic, and the constant, throbbing agony in my face. I was at Mercy Oaks Memorial Hospital, and a surgeon named Dr. Sterling informed me that my jaw was broken in four places and required immediate reconstruction.

“We’re going to have to use titanium plates to hold everything together,” he said, looking at me with a mixture of pity and professional focus.

I couldn’t talk, so I spent my time typing messages into my phone to communicate with the police and the nurses. Detective Miller came by my room and told me that they had found Raymond at a local bar with the cash still in his pocket and my blood on his boots.

“The photos you took are the reason he’s not getting out on bail,” the detective said, his voice grim.