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.

When Priya came back into the room, her eyes were red.

“The police can take a report here if you want,” she said.

I nodded.

“But I don’t know exactly what they did.”

“You don’t have to solve it before you’re allowed to report it.”

A detective named Mara Ellis arrived after lunch.

She did not ask me why I had gotten into Marcus’s car four times.

She asked when the incidents occurred, whether I still had the recording device, and whether my husband knew about it.