It's been a few days since I witnessed that horrifying video of Ivan torturing the love of my life. The images haunt me, seared into my mind like a cruel brand. I try to stay strong for the tiny life growing inside me, but it's a constant battle. Every time the memories resurface, tears flow unbidden, and my thoughts spiral into the dark abyss of what horrors Stefano might be enduring at Ivan's merciless hands.
In a desperate attempt to find him, I tried calling the number Ivan used to contact me that fateful day. But it was a futile effort - the calls never connected. He must have used a burner phone, discarding it the moment our conversation ended. The video itself arrived on a phone Ivan mailed to me, a calculated move to avoid leaving a digital trail. As much as I loathe him, I can't
