“Come get your worthless daughter and take her back,” my mother-in-law shouted my father as I lay broken at the bottom of the stairs after my husband shoved me down. “Your family will answer for it if she has even a scratch,” was the sole warning Dad offered her. They had no notion who my father really was, so they made fun of him.

I squeezed my eyes shut, and the dark memory broke through the mental dam.

Rain beating on the glass.

Cold sweat on my fingers on the steering wheel.

The headlights of his car in my rearview mirror.

“I remember calling you.” I whispered, tears flowing over my eyelashes.

I told you I was stuck in my driveway.

“Yes,” said Laura, with feeling.

I told you to lock your doors and drive straight to the public police station and I start driving toward your neighbourhood to help you.