“Drop the needle!” the lead officer commanded.

“Hands behind your head!

Down on the floor, now!” And Julian, exposed, his own recorded confession still hanging in the air, dropped the syringe.

It bounced off the linoleum and rolled harmlessly beneath my bed.

He raised his shaking hands, and the officers took him, and the cold click of steel handcuffs closing around my husband’s wrists was, I will admit, one of the sweetest sounds I have ever heard.

Chapter 11 — I Was Buying Your Board