“I came home three hours early and found my seven-month-pregnant wife on the floor, bleeding, while my mother held her by the hair. Then I saw the note on Savannah’s phone.” / Chapter 4 / 20

Chapter 4 - The Cloud ArchiveThe silence that settled over the apartment was absolute and suffocating.

I waited ten minutes to ensure my mother had taken the elevator down to the lobby. Then, I walked up to our bedroom door and knocked gently twice.

"Savannah? It’s me. She’s gone."

A few seconds later, the lock clicked. The door opened slowly.

Savannah stood in the doorway, holding a fresh ice pack against her swollen cheek. The bleeding on her lip had stopped, but the dark purple discoloration was already beginning to bloom across her fair skin.

"She... she took her luggage?" Savannah asked softly, her voice barely a whisper.

"She's gone, Savannah. I kicked her out," I said, stepping into the room. "I’m so sorry. God, Savannah, I am so, so sorry—"

I reached out to embrace her, but she stepped back slightly, her eyes flickering toward the bed.

"Christopher... you need to see something," she said quietly.

She walked over to her nightstand, picked up her phone, and tapped the screen a few times. Then, she opened her laptop sitting on the desk, logged into a secure, double-authenticated cloud drive, and turned the screen toward me.

"I didn't start taking notes two months ago," Savannah said, her voice completely devoid of emotion. "I started three weeks after she moved in with us. Three years ago."

My breath hitched in my throat.

The cloud folder was named Archive_B.

Inside were hundreds of subfolders, neatly organized by year and month. Each folder contained high-resolution photographs of contusions, scrapes, burns, and torn clothing. Beside each photo was a detailed text file with timestamps, exact locations, descriptions of the incident, and transcribed audio clips.

My hands shook as I clicked on a folder from two years ago: June 2024.

A photograph opened on the screen. It showed Savannah's lower back, covered in dark blue and green bruises shaped like handprints.

The accompanying text file read:

June 14, 2024. 2:15 p.m. Bernice pushed me into the marble kitchen counter after Christopher left for his business trip to San Francisco. Reason given: I left a coffee mug in the sink. Threat made: 'If you tell him, I will tell him you're having an affair with your coworker. He will believe his mother over you.'