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I almost deleted it without reading, but something made me open it. This is Chad, Madison’s husband. I wanted you to know that I filed for divorce. I saw the video of what she did to you and I can’t be married to someone capable of that. I’m sorry for everything you’ve been through. You didn’t deserve any of it. I stared at the message for a long time before responding.
Thank you for reaching out. I’m sorry your marriage is ending, but I understand your decision. Take care of yourself. He replied immediately. She’s been telling everyone you edited the video that it’s not what it looks like, but I know her. I’ve seen her cruel streak before. I just never wanted to admit it.
Good luck with the trial. The trial was scheduled for early September, nearly 10 months after the assault. My father had rejected another plea offer, insisting he’d been defending himself against my hysterical behavior. The prosecutor was almost gleeful. With the video evidence, he said it was one of the strongest cases he’d ever had.
The weeks leading up to the trial were surreal. I tried to maintain normaly. Going to my office, meeting with clients, attending business dinners, but the bruises on my throat took three weeks to fade completely. And every time I looked in the mirror, I was reminded of my father’s hands cutting off my air supply.
The rib pain lingered even longer. Certain movements, reaching for something on a high shelf, twisting to look behind me, sent sharp reminders through my torso. My therapist, whom I’d started seeing two weeks after the assault, said I was experiencing symptoms of trauma. Hypervigilance, she called it. I’d installed additional security measures at the estate, more cameras, motion sensors on every window, a direct line to a private security company that could have someone at my house within 5 minutes.
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