Every time my brother-in-law drove me home, I would lose consciousness and wake up with unexplained aches and pains. My husband would only laugh and say, “You’re just out of shape, that’s all.” After the fourth ride, I secretly slipped a voice recorder into my purse and said nothing. That night, I listened to a phone conversation between the two of them that revealed my blackouts had never been accidental.

As I stepped through the entrance, my phone lit up with a message from Julian: Where did you go, sweetheart?

I turned the screen toward Priya.

She said, “You don’t owe him an answer.”

I switched the phone off.

Inside, a nurse asked me what had brought me in.

I opened my mouth, expecting a polished explanation, and instead heard myself say, “I think someone has been making me unconscious without my consent.”

The nurse’s expression changed, not to shock, but to quiet concentration.

She led me to a private room.