My husband beat me fifty times with a leather belt while I was seven months pregnant, careful never to strike my face where anyone might notice. He thought I would stay silent like I always had, but the nursery camera recorded every blow, and by the next morning, my soldier father was standing in my doctor’s doorway.

Judge Richter sat in silence for a long, agonizing moment after my statement, her gaze shifting from me to the trembling figure of Gero von Berg at the defense table.

When she finally spoke, every word dropped into the quiet courtroom like a falling anvil.

“Mr. von Berg, the court has reviewed all physical evidence, medical testimony, and digital documentation presented in this case,” Judge Richter said, her tone dripping with frigid, unyielding condemnation. “Domestic abuse dressed up in corporate success and polished charm is still nothing less than cowardice of the highest order. The brutality you inflicted upon your pregnant wife—calculating your strikes to avoid facial detection while terrorizing her into silence—demonstrates a profound lack of remorse and a danger to society.”

Gero raised his head, his face pale and contorted, his lips trembling as he looked up at the bench.

“Please, Your Honor,” Gero choked out, his voice cracking into a pathetic whine. “I made a mistake! I was under stress! I’m a father—I want to see my daughter—”

“You forfeit the right to call yourself a father the moment you raise a weapon against the mother of your child,” Judge Richter cut him off sharply, banging her gavel once with final, echoing authority.

“For the charges of aggravated domestic assault causing severe bodily harm, felony endangerment of a minor, and systematic coercion, this court sentences Gero von Berg to twelve years in a maximum-security federal penitentiary, without the possibility of parole for the first eight years. Furthermore, a permanent, unappealable restraining order is issued barring the defendant from any contact with Beate Brand or her child.”

Thunk.

The gavel came down.

Gero let out a ragged, desperate sob, burying his face in his hands as two bailiffs stepped up behind him, grabbed his arms, and hauled him roughly to his feet. As they dragged him out through the side doors of the courtroom in heavy steel shackles, he cast one last, pleading look in my direction.