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“Dad… please, get me out of here… he h//it me again…” Then — a scream. Something shattered. And then there was silence. Twenty minutes later, I walked into that house and saw my daughter — she was lying on the white Persian rug, covered in bl00d, while his mother stood beside her, smirking. “Go back to your lonely little house,” she said. I didn’t argue. I didn’t raise my voice. I just looked around… and made one call. They saw me as nothing more than an old man in an old pickup truck. They didn’t even realize that with that call, I had already set something in motion that would be impossible to stop.