I froze. My heart started pounding in my throat.

— Install cameras in your house — he repeated. — And please, don’t tell your husband.

I couldn’t believe he had said that. My husband was a caring father, he loved our daughter, helped me with everything… or so I thought.

Still, I followed his advice. The cameras were installed secretly — in the nursery, the living room, and the kitchen. The next day, I watched the footage.

And when I saw what happened while I was gone, my legs gave out beneath me.

My daughter was sitting in her playpen, quietly crying. My husband walked over, leaned down to her… and suddenly — shouting, angry words, rough movements.

He grabbed her by the arm and shook her, as if blaming her for something. Then, as if nothing had happened, he turned on the TV and made himself some coffee, while the child cried, confused and scared.

I couldn’t bear to watch the rest.

The next day, I left with my daughter — taking only our documents and one toy.
I sent the doctor a short message:

“Thank you. You saved us.”