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At 3 a.m., I got a desperate call from my daughter—her husband was violent. What unfolded next was unbelievable.

Mark’s desperation had been simmering for days, a storm threatening to spill over at any moment, but tonight it had erupted into something far more dangerous. As I stepped into his dimly lit living room, the air seemed thick with menace, almost tangible, pressing against my skin like a physical weight. The shadows of furniture loomed unnaturally on the walls, cast by a single swinging light bulb that flickered sporadically, as though unsure whether it wanted…

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