“You filmed my wife bleeding on the floor, and you called it a joke,” Aaron stated, stepping slowly toward her.
My mother stepped forward, trying to insert herself between Aaron and her golden child. “Aaron, please! You have to understand, it was chaotic! We are family! You can’t believe everything Emily says right now, she’s highly medicated and traumatized!”
Aaron ignored her completely. He didn’t engage in a screaming match. He didn’t argue the semantics of the assault. He was a man who understood that arguing with narcissists was a waste of breath. You didn’t negotiate with monsters; you caged them.
He stopped a few feet away from Nicole. He reached into the front pocket of his dusty jeans and pulled out his smartphone.
He didn’t dial a lawyer. He didn’t call another family member.
He unlocked the screen, dialed three digits, and pressed the phone to his ear, never breaking eye contact with Nicole.
“Yes, 911 dispatch?” Aaron said clearly, his voice steady and echoing in the dead-silent hospital room. “I am currently at Wichita General Hospital, Room 412 in the maternity ward. I need police officers dispatched here immediately. I need to report a violent physical assault on a heavily pregnant woman that resulted in a critical medical emergency. I also need to report the presence of an individual currently in possession of primary video evidence of the crime, who is an active flight risk.”
