Chapter 3: The Game
By the end of the first year, Grant had turned the violence into a ritual.
He would come home from work in a good mood. We would eat dinner. Then something small would set him off — a look I gave him, a tone he didn’t like, a dish left in the sink.
He would hit me until I was on the floor. Sometimes he used his fists. Sometimes he used his belt. Afterward he would film me while I cried, making me repeat what I had done wrong.
He watched those videos later. I could hear them playing from his study while he drank.
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He called it his “private collection.”
I started calling it evidence.
