“My husband beat me while I was pregnant and his parents laughed… but they didn’t know that a simple message would destroy everything.”1

—“How dramatic”— grumbled Raúl, as if the suffering were an act designed to make them uncomfortable.

Victor didn’t come to help me, didn’t hesitate, didn’t waver, he simply chose violence as an automatic response.

He walked towards the corner, took a wooden stick, and in that gesture the whole story of abuse that I wanted to fully accept was concentrated.

 

 

 

PART2

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