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.

The expensive suit fit him badly around the shoulders.

He watched me with a mixture of resentment and calculation I recognized from our hardest marital arguments.

“Sofia,” he said as we passed, “you know I never wanted to hurt you.”

I stopped, with Priya and an officer nearby.

My heart raced.

For one second I considered telling him about the sleepless nights, the hospital examinations, and the way I still checked every bottle I touched.

Instead, I said, “Whatever you wanted, you knew I hadn’t agreed.”