My Father Broke 2 of My Ribs With a Baseball Bat and Ordered Me to Sell Grandma’s House—Then the Officer Stepped Over the Bat and Said, “Captain Hart, Ma’am, Are You Hurt?”

The visitation room at the Middle Peninsula Regional Security Center was separated by two inches of scratch-resistant bulletproof polycarbonate.

Harold sat on his side of the glass, wearing the rough orange jumpsuit, his arms handcuffed to the steel table beneath the counter. His face was hollow, dark bags sagging under his eyes, his knuckles scraped and bruised from pounding against the cell door.

On the other side of the glass sat Lorraine Hart.

She wasn't wearing her apron. She was wearing a crisp navy-blue blazer she had bought ten years ago and never had the courage to wear, her gray hair neatly combed, her shoulders resting straight against the plastic chair.

Beside her, Evelyn Shaw sat quietly, a single legal manila folder resting on the stainless-steel ledge.

Harold snatched the heavy plastic telephone receiver off the wall hook with his shackled hands, slamming it against his ear.

"Lorraine!" Harold barked through the speaker, his voice crackling with desperate fury. "Where have you been? You need to call my brother in Georgia. He has eighty thousand in equity. Tell him to wire it to Henderson so we can post bond! And Claire—what the hell happened to Claire?"

Lorraine picked up her receiver slowly. She held it to her ear, looking through the scratched plastic into the eyes of the man who had ruled her existence through terror for thirty-five years.

"Claire is in federal holding in Henrico County, Harold," Lorraine said. Her voice was calm, clear, and steady as mountain water. "Her bail was set at two million dollars. She doesn't have it. Greg has already signed a proffer agreement with the Department of Justice. He’s testifying against you and Claire."

Harold slammed his cuffed fists onto the counter. "That little coward! I made him! I gave him everything!"

"You gave him stolen money, Harold," Lorraine replied.

"Listen to me, Lorraine!" Harold snarled, his spit speckling the inside of the glass. "You need to mortgage the farm! Maya’s deed is invalid—Henderson says we can challenge the transfer because of mother’s mental capacity! You sign the affidavit saying mother was senile, and we can void Maya’s deed—"

"Maya’s deed is registered, Harold," Lorraine interrupted.

Harold froze. "What?"

"Mother wasn't senile," Lorraine said softly. "She was the smartest woman either of us ever knew. She knew you were a thief. And she knew you would eventually turn that bat on me or Maya."

"Lorraine, you shut your mouth!" Harold hissed, leaning in until his nose was pressed against the glass. "You're my wife! Everything you have came from my hands!"

Evelyn Shaw opened the manila folder, retrieved two sets of legal documents, and slid them through the narrow security slot at the bottom of the divider.

Harold looked down at the documents.

Printed across the top in bold black letters was: **PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE AND DIVISION OF MARITAL PROPERTY.**

Beneath it was a certified copy of a permanent protection order.

"What is this?" Harold whispered, his voice finally losing its venom, replaced by an unfamiliar, trembling panic. "Lorraine... what is this?"

"Those are divorce papers, Harold," Lorraine said.

"You can't do this to me!" Harold shouted, tears of pure, impotent rage spilling over his red eyelids. "I'm your husband! Who is going to take care of you? You don't have a dime! You’ve never worked a day in your life!"

Lorraine looked at the man she had feared for half a century. And for the first time, she saw him for what he truly was: a pathetic, hollow coward who could only feel powerful when he was swinging a wooden stick at women who couldn't fight back.

"I worked every single day of my life, Harold," Lorraine said, her voice ringing clear through the receiver. "I survived you. That was the hardest job in the world. And today, I quit."

She set the plastic telephone down on the cradle.

"Lorraine! LORRAINE! PICK UP THE PHONE!" Harold screamed, slamming his shackled fists against the glass until the corrections officer stepped forward, grabbed him by the shoulder harness, and violently forced him back into his chair.