Chapter 2: The Call He Should Never Have Made
Dr. Patrizia Richter stared at the phone screen.
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the quiet vibration of the device against the wooden desk.
My blood turned cold.
I knew that name.
I knew that number.
I had spent eighteen months memorizing the sound of Gero’s footsteps, the way he breathed when he was angry, the exact silence that came before he exploded.
And now his name was glowing on my doctor’s phone.
“He knows,” I whispered.
Dr. Richter looked at me carefully.
“Who knows?””
I swallowed.
“Gero.””
She didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, she reached over and placed the phone face down.
“Anna, did you tell him where you were going?””
I shook my head quickly.
“No.””
“Did you share your location?””
“No.””
“Did you call him?””
I looked down.
“No.””
Dr. Richter’s expression hardened.
“Then he is guessing. And right now, guessing is all he has.””
But I knew Gero.
That was the problem.
He didn’t need proof.
He only needed suspicion.
“He always knows,” I whispered.
The doctor pulled a chair closer.
“Anna, look at me.””
I forced myself to meet her eyes.
“You are not going back to that house today.””
The words should have comforted me.
Instead, they terrified me.
Because leaving was something I had imagined hundreds of times.
But imagining freedom and actually choosing it were two different things.
“What if he gets angry?”” I asked.
Dr. Richter’s face softened.
“He already got angry.””
I looked away.
“He’ll hurt me worse next time.””
The doctor reached for my hand.
“No. Not this time.””
Her confidence almost made me cry.
Because I had forgotten what it felt like when someone else believed I deserved protection.
She picked up her phone again.
“I’m calling your father.””
I froze.
“Wait.””
She paused.
“What?””
I looked at the floor.
“I need to tell him myself.””
Dr. Richter studied my face.
“Why?””
Because he was my father.
Because I had spent my entire life being the strong daughter of Thomas Brand.
Because I was terrified of the disappointment in his eyes.
Not because he would blame me.
I knew he wouldn’t.
But because I blamed myself.
“I don’t want him to hear my voice like this from someone else,” I whispered.
The doctor nodded slowly.
“Okay.””
She handed me the phone.
My fingers trembled as I searched through my contacts.
*Papa.*
The name looked exactly the same as it had before.
Simple.
Safe.
I pressed call.
The first ring felt endless.
The second felt like a countdown.
The third—
“Anna?””
My father answered immediately.
His voice.
Strong.
Familiar.
And somehow that broke me more than anything else.
I opened my mouth.
No words came.
“Anna?””
I closed my eyes.
“Papa…”
There was silence.
Not confusion.
Not impatience.
Just silence.
The kind of silence from someone who was already listening.
“What happened?””
I looked at Dr. Richter.
She nodded once.
Permission.
“I need you to come.””
A pause.
Then:
“Where are you?””
I gave him the clinic address.
“Are you safe?””
The question nearly destroyed me.
Because nobody had asked me that in so long.
I pressed my lips together.
“I am now.””
My father exhaled slowly.
“Stay with the doctor. Lock the door if you need to. I’m leaving.””
“You don’t have to—”
“Anna.””
His voice changed.
The military officer came through.
Calm.
Controlled.
Dangerously calm.
“You are my daughter. There is nowhere I would rather be.””
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
For the first time that day, I let myself cry.
Not quietly.
Not the controlled tears I had hidden in bathrooms and under blankets.
Real tears.
Dr. Richter stayed beside me while I cried.
She didn’t tell me to calm down.
She didn’t tell me everything would be fine.
She simply stayed.
And that meant more.
Thirty minutes later, the examination was finished.
The bruises were documented.
The injuries were recorded.
The truth was written down by someone other than me.
That mattered.
A doctor’s report could not be called “drama.””
A medical record could not be called “a wife exaggerating.””
Gero had spent months controlling my reality.
Now reality was fighting back.
Then the door opened.
I looked up.
My father stood there.
Thomas Brand was seventy years old, but everyone who met him still straightened their posture.
Years in the military had shaped him.
Broad shoulders.
Gray hair.
A face that rarely showed emotion.
But when his eyes found mine, everything changed.
He didn’t look at the bruises first.
He looked at me.
And the pain on his face was something I had never seen before.
“Anna.””
That was all he said.
I stood up.
Then I broke.
I walked into his arms like I was a child again.
And he held me.
Not carefully.
Not like I was fragile.
Like he was reminding me I was still here.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
His arms tightened.
“No.””
The word was firm.
“Do not apologize.””
“But I stayed.””
He pulled back slightly.
“Listen to me.””
I looked at him.
“You survived.””
My eyes filled again.
“I should have left earlier.””
His jaw tightened.
“Who told you this was your fault?””
I had no answer.
Because the answer was obvious.
Gero.
But also me.
Because I had believed him.
My father looked toward Dr. Richter.
“Did she show you the recording?””
I nodded.
His expression changed.
“Recording?””
I unlocked my phone.
My hands shook as I opened the saved files.
I handed it to him.
He watched for only ten seconds before looking away.
His face became completely still.
That scared me more than anger.
“Thomas,” Dr. Richter said quietly.
He handed the phone back.
“When can we report this?””
I stared at him.
“Papa…”
He looked at me.
“He will deny everything.””
“I know.””
“He will say you fell.””
“I know.””
“He will say you are unstable because of pregnancy.””
My stomach tightened.
“I know.””
My father stepped closer.
“That is why we do not fight him with emotions.””
His voice became colder.
“We fight him with facts.””
For the first time, I saw why people respected him.
Gero manipulated feelings.
My father built strategies.
A few minutes later, my phone rang.
Everyone looked at the screen.
Gero.
Again.
My body reacted before my mind did.
My hands started shaking.
Dr. Richter noticed.
“You don’t have to answer.””
I stared at his name.
Before today, I would have answered.
I would have apologized.
I would have tried to calm him down.
But now my father was standing beside me.
The camera footage was saved.
The doctor’s report existed.
I was not alone.
I pressed answer.
I put it on speaker.
“Anna?””
Gero’s voice sounded concerned.
Almost perfect.
“Where are you?””
I didn’t speak.
He continued.
“I came home and you weren’t here.””
My father’s expression didn’t move.
“I was worried.””
A lie.
I knew it.
Dr. Richter knew it.
My father knew it.
But Gero kept performing.
“Anna, please answer me.””
Finally, I spoke.
“I’m at the doctor.””
A pause.
Only half a second.
But I heard it.
The anger.
Then it disappeared.
“Your doctor?””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
I looked at my father.
Then I said:
“Because I was hurt.””
Silence.
Complete silence.
Then Gero laughed softly.
Not because it was funny.
Because he thought I was making a mistake.
“Anna.””
His voice became gentle.
“You need to be careful what you say.””
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“I know exactly what I’m saying.””
Another pause.
Then his mask slipped.
“You are really going to do this?””
Dr. Richter reached over and muted the microphone for a second.
“Anna, don’t let him pull you into an argument.””
I nodded.
My father leaned closer.
“Ask one question.””
I looked at him.
“Which one?””
His eyes stayed on the phone.
“Ask him why he thinks he has the right to hurt you.””
I unmuted.
“Gero?””
“Yes?””
My voice shook, but I continued.
“Why did you think you had the right to hurt me?””
Silence.
Longer this time.
Then his voice changed.
Cold.
Threatening.
“You’re making a mistake.””
The call ended.
Nobody moved.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message appeared.
Not from Gero.
From an unknown number.
I opened it.
And the single photo on the screen made my blood freeze.
It was taken outside the clinic.
A picture of my father’s car.
May you like
With a message underneath:
*“You should have stayed quiet.””*
