I talked to my friend back home this morning. His sister isn't crying any more.
Three days ago, he called me from Ohio and I didn't get to the call in time. But I was on it before I heard the message play out. "She says you took pictures while you were at her house," was the trigger phrase.
I'll change her name to Baby for writing this blog. Baby had bruises all over her arms. She was vague about it, but now that I think about it, very specific. "This has happened before. It went away." I thought she was getting hit by equipment at the factory where her husband also worked.
I started snapping pictures. She showed me what look to be defensive wounds. Say look to be, because I never want back and studied them. Just had them in case she needed them legally, never thinking why.
Her husband had been beating her.
My bud said no one in the family knew. But I had the pictures from July.
Then last week, her husband changed the locks on the house, leaving the kids with the clothes on their backs and Baby at mom and dad's while they are in Florida. She was washing the kids clothes nightly and driving them back to school some 40 miles away every morning.
So I got the disc onto which I burned the pics and sent a photo attachment with a letter to a mutual friend with a computer. He called my buddy over to see them and burned a disc for Baby. Her old man got served yesterday and is in jail. She is filing for divorce.
"Baby went out and bought a half beef yesterday," her brother said. She's looking for a place in the same school district and has a couple lawyers. "She's so glad you went into reporter mode and started snapping pictures," my bud said.
No, Baby's not crying any more. Her old man is in jail on spousal abuse charges and has a restraining near her. With any luck, he'll have divorce papers served before he makes bail.