My Mil Slapped Me For Choosing My Dying Mother Over A Thanksgiving Turkey. My Husband Watched And Did Nothing. I Just Cut The Power And Canceled Their Feast, So Why Do I Feel Like The Villain?

The Counterattack

The next morning, 10 a.m. at the NYPD 112th Precinct. Emily sat in a chair in an interrogation room across from her sat Detective Miller, a man in his mid-30s. He was dressed in plain clothes and had an unremarkable face. On his desk were a pile of documents and a paper cup of coffee.

“Miss Davis, could you please recount for me again the circumstances under which this credit card was issued?”

“I applied for it in March of 2019 at Chase Bank. At the time, I was working in the accounting department of a trading company and my monthly salary was $2,800. I provided my proof of employment and income, and the card was issued in my name based on my credit. Later, I added my husband and mother-in-law as authorized users.”

Detective Miller nodded, writing something down on a form. “So why did you suddenly deactivate their cards and cancel the automatic payments?”

Emily looked the detective straight in the eye.

“Because my mother-in-law tried to stop me from going to see my dying mother. Because while my mother was on the verge of death, the man who calls himself my husband was only worried about whether his Thanksgiving catering would arrive on time. Because while my mother-in-law was slapping me across the face, my husband just stood there and watched.”

Her voice was calm, almost detached, as if she were telling someone else’s story. Detective Miller’s pen stopped.

“Your mother-in-law assaulted you?”

“Yes.” Emily pointed to her cheek. “Right here. The night before last. The bruise has faded a bit, but you can still see the mark.”

The detective leaned forward to get a closer look. On her cheekbone, there was a faint purplish bruise and a clear, scabbed-over cut near the corner of her mouth.

“Did you file a report?”

“No. At the time, all I could think about was getting to the hospital to see my mother.”

Detective Miller was silent for a moment.

“Miss Davis,” his tone softened considerably, “your husband has accused you of credit card fraud. However, our check with the bank confirms that the card is unequivocally in your name and you have full authority over it. Legally speaking, deactivating authorized user cards or cancelling automatic payments does not constitute a crime.”

Emily nodded.

“However,” the detective continued, “your husband is also claiming that you acted out of malice to intentionally cause a power outage, ruined the family’s Thanksgiving, and publicly humiliated them in front of relatives. He is demanding compensation for emotional distress.”

At the phrase “emotional distress,” Emily let out a short, bitter laugh. It was so absurd.

“Emotional distress?” she repeated. “My mother is in the ICU fighting for her life. Those people physically stopped me from going to the hospital and even assaulted me, and now they’re demanding I compensate them for emotional distress?”

Detective Miller looked uncomfortable. “I understand how you feel, but since the complainant has made this claim, it has to be noted in the report. Of course, whether it holds up is for a court to decide.”

Emily took a deep breath. “Then I’d like to file a complaint as well.”

“A complaint?”

“Yes. I’m pressing charges for domestic assault. My mother-in-law hit me and my husband stood by and did nothing. I have a witness, my aunt. I was on the phone with her on my way to the hospital and explained the whole situation.” And Emily added, “I’m also suing my husband for adultery. I have evidence for that too. Testimony from a coworker and screenshots of the text messages between him and the woman. I saved them on my phone and never deleted them.”

Detective Miller’s pen stopped again. He looked at the woman in front of him. Her face was pale and she had dark circles under her eyes, looking like she hadn’t slept in days, but her gaze was as steady and unshakable as a calm lake.

“Miss Davis, are you sure you want to proceed with this?” he asked. “This could make things quite complicated. Your husband’s side isn’t likely to take this lying down.”

“I don’t care,” Emily cut him off. “I have nothing left to lose.”

Detective Miller was silent for a moment. He lowered his head and quickly scribbled something on the form. “All right. I’ll help you file the complaint. We’ll move to the next room to take your official statement and you can submit the evidence you mentioned.”

Emily nodded and stood up. At the door, she paused.

“Detective?” she asked without turning around. “How long will it take for my husband’s case against me to be dismissed?”

“The facts are pretty clear. It should be resolved within a week.”

“And when will my accounts be unfrozen?”

“As soon as you’re cleared, we’ll notify the bank and they’ll be released immediately.”

“Thank you.”

Emily opened the door and walked out. The fluorescent lights in the hallway were still pale and cold. After a few steps, she felt a wave of dizziness. She braced herself against the wall and slowly slid to the floor. She hadn’t slept in over 30 hours. Rushing from her in-laws’ house, spending the night at the hospital, hearing the news about her frozen accounts at the bank, and now the police station—she was exhausted, truly exhausted. But she couldn’t collapse. Her mother was waiting. She grit her teeth, pushed herself up using the wall, and started walking again. One foot in front of the other.