At three in the morning my daughter called me, begging me to come immediately, but when I reached the hospital the doctor had already covered her body with a sheet and quietly offered his condolences 

My son-in-law lied, saying that my daughter had been attacked by a robber, and the police believed him. But I had evidence he couldn’t hide 

At three in the morning, the phone rang. I immediately knew nothing good was coming. My daughter was crying and could barely speak. She kept repeating, “Mom, please come… him again… I’m scared.”

I left right away, without asking any questions. But I didn’t make it in time.

When I rushed into the hospital, a doctor met me. He didn’t even look me in the eyes. He simply gently covered my daughter’s face with a sheet and said softly:

— I’m very sorry.

I didn’t scream. I just stood there and looked. The doctor continued, as if reciting a memorized text:

— According to her husband, she was robbed on her way home. Unfortunately, the injuries were incompatible with life.

The police accepted this version immediately. Everyone nodded. Everyone expressed sympathy for Mark, saying how poor he was, how hard it must be for him.
Everyone except me.

Because my daughter didn’t call me for no reason. And not to say goodbye. She called so that I would come.

At dawn, I returned to their house. Mark was there. He paced back and forth, pretending he was about to faint from grief.

The living room was in disarray. The table was overturned. The lamp was broken. Books were scattered across the floor.

— Did you do all this? — I asked, pointing at the chaos and the hole in the wall.

— I wasn’t myself! — he snapped. — My wife is dead! I told the police everything! She went out for a walk, a robber attacked her… he probably wanted to steal her jewelry!

— Wanted to steal her jewelry, — I repeated calmly. — Then why does the forensic report say the injuries resemble blows against the floor rather than a fall on the street?

He fell silent. Then he suddenly turned toward me.

— What did you say?

— I said that robbers don’t stay long, — I continued. — They don’t beat a person again and again. And certainly not for twenty minutes straight.

— I don’t know! — he shouted. — I wasn’t there! I was in the shower!

— In the shower, — I nodded. — Interesting. Because Sara said yesterday that the water heater wasn’t working. You were only expecting the repairman on Tuesday.

He went pale.

— I… I took a cold shower. To calm down. We argued.

— About what?

— About nothing! About something stupid! She ruined dinner!

I looked at the kitchen. It was clean. No smell of burning, no dirty dishes.

— Mark, — I said quietly, — you have scratches on your arm.

He instinctively looked at his forearm. Red, fresh, deep marks.

— I did that myself. From nerves.

— Those look like fingernail marks, — I replied.

He suddenly changed. His face turned cold.

— Why are you interrogating me? My wife is dead. You should be supporting me.

— I found who did this, — I said.

He froze.

— What?

— I found the killer.

And at that moment I pulled something out of my bag, and I immediately saw my son-in-law turn pale, because in my hands he saw…  Continued in the comments 

I took a transparent bag out of my purse. Inside was Sara’s broken phone.

— A nurse gave it to me, — I said. — It’s her phone.

He stared at it as if he had seen a ghost.

— I thought… — he stopped short.

— You thought you had destroyed it completely? — I asked. — You thought that if you threw it away, no one would find out anything?

— I didn’t touch the phone! — he yelled. — The robber could have dropped it!

— If the robber wanted valuables, — I said calmly, — why was the ring still on her finger? Why didn’t he take the phone?

He started sweating.

— Maybe he got scared…

— Or maybe he didn’t care, — I replied. — Because he didn’t want money. He wanted to hurt her.

I stepped closer.

— Do you know what cloud storage is, Mark?

His breathing became uneven.

— Sara saved everything, — I continued. — She secretly recorded videos. Saved voice messages. Every threat. Every blow. Every night she was afraid to fall asleep next to you.

His face turned gray.

— Give me the phone, — he hissed, taking a step toward me.

— Why? — I asked. — It’s just a broken phone. Unless there’s something on it you don’t want others to hear.

He lunged at me but tripped over the couch.

— This is evidence, Mark, — I said, stepping back. — And the copies aren’t only here.

Inside the phone were deleted videos. In them, my daughter was sitting in the bathtub, covered in bruises. She was crying softly. She said she was afraid to return to the bedroom. There were messages where he shouted, threatened, and humiliated her.

And there was the final video. She looked straight into the camera and said: “If you’re watching this, it means something has happened to me. I don’t feel safe next to my own husband. I’m afraid he will kill me.”