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.

You always have to win.”

I looked at the wheelchair, at Dad holding the door, at the courthouse steps I couldn’t descend alone.

“I wanted to get home safely,” I said.

“That was all.”

Gabriel stepped between us without touching Martin.

“Further communications go through counsel.”

On the drive back, the city passed in blurred patches of green and brick.

I had not won a war.