My husband pushed me down the stairs, and as I lay shattered at the bottom, my mother-in-law called my father and said, “Come get your worthless daughter and take her back.” Dad gave her only one warning: “If she has so much as a scratch, your family will answer for it.” They laughed at him because they had absolutely no idea who my father truly was.

The name on the screen made my stomach twist: Celeste.

Dad reached for it, then stopped and looked at me.

He wanted to protect me, but he understood that choosing whether to answer was mine.

“Let it ring,” I said.

A voicemail arrived.

Celeste’s voice was wet with manufactured concern.

Rachel, darling, we’re so worried.

Martin says you’re accusing him of terrible things.