My daughter went missing, and my second husband and I searched everywhere for her in a panic. A month later, the police found her in a cellar, covered in injuries and barely in her right mind. The moment she saw my husband, she began trembling all over in terror. Only then did I realize that the “good dad” in the eyes of the neighbors was the one who had hurt her. I called the police without hesitation, but they held him for only three days before letting him go. When I challenged him, my husband smiled smugly. “So what if you know I did it? I destroyed the evidence ages ago.” I touched his wrist and saw the time of his death: forty years from now, peacefully in his sleep. At that moment, I knew it was time to act.
