My grandson called me from the police station at 2:47 a.m., choking back tears: “Grandma, my stepmother says I made her fall and Dad believes every word she says, he doesn’t believe me,” but when I arrived the officer saw me, froze, went pale and whispered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know who you were,” and from that moment my family was forced to face the truth.

“This is my house too,” Ethan said.

Chelsea let out a cold laugh.

“Your house? This house belongs to your father, and I am his wife. You are just an accident he had to put up with all these years.”

“My mom wasn’t an accident.”

Chelsea’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Your mother is dead. And your grandmother will be soon too. It’s a matter of time. Old women like her don’t last long. And when she dies, your father is going to inherit that filthy house where she lives. We’re going to sell it. We’re going to move away. And you’re going to stay in a boarding school where you learn not to be so insolent. Is that why you hit defenseless women? Because it makes you feel powerful?”

Chelsea took a step toward him. The camera perfectly captured her face—pure fury.

“I didn’t touch you, you lying brat. You attacked me, and if you repeat that lie again, I’ll make sure you rot in a juvenile facility.”