“I was holding Owen, trying to protect him with my body.”

“She shoved me onto the sofa so hard that I hit my head against the wooden armrest.”

“Did anyone else witness this?” Harris asked.

“Patricia was standing in the kitchen doorway,” I said. “She watched the whole thing.”

“She told Courtney to lock the front door and take the keys.”

My father shifted in his chair, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek.

“Did your husband, Ethan, witness any of this physical restraint?” Harris asked.

“He came home later that evening,” I said.

“I told him what Courtney did, and I showed him my wrists.”

“What was his reaction?”

“He told me I was overreacting,” I said, a tear finally escaping and slipping down my cheek.

“He said his family only had my best interests at heart.”

“He refused to give me my phone or let me leave the house.”

Harris stopped writing and looked at me gently.

“Thank you, Hannah,” he said. “This is exactly what we need.”

He pressed the button on the recorder, and the red light went out.