With a shaking hand, I pulled out an old plastic bag. Inside were a few things: two notebooks, a small box with trinkets, and my daughter’s phone—the very phone my husband had told me was “lost.” A dreadful feeling sank into my heart.

I turned the phone on—it still worked. I opened her messages. There was a conversation with her friend.

Message excerpts

February 15, 10:17 PM
Daughter: I can’t take it anymore.

10:18 PM
Friend: What happened?

10:19 PM
Daughter: Dad yelled at me again. He said if Mom finds out even a single word, he’ll make sure we both regret it…

10:21 PM
Friend: Oh my God, you’re scaring me… Did he hit you?
Daughter: Yes… it’s not the first time. I have a bruise on my arm. I told Mom it happened at school, but… I’m scared.

10:24 PM
Friend: You have to tell your mom or go to the police, this is too serious!

10:26 PM
Daughter: He said he’d kill me if I speak. I believe him—when he’s angry, he’s terrifying.

10:28 PM
Friend: But you can’t keep this all to yourself…

10:29 PM
Daughter: I’m writing to you because I can’t tell anyone else. If something ever happens to me, know that it was him.

Those words burned in my hands like fire. Each message seared into my mind. I read them again and again, seeing her frightened eyes, remembering how withdrawn she had become over the last few months.

Back then, I didn’t want to believe something terrible was happening to her…

And in that moment, I understood: my daughter had not left this world on her own. She had become the victim of the very person I thought was closest to me