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.

I closed my eyes.

Cleaning had always been Celeste’s favorite way of hiding disorder.

A spilled drink vanished before anyone could complain.

A family member’s mistake became a neat room and an elegant explanation.

But a staircase was not a dinner table.

“Why would she say that?” I whispered.

“That’s something we need to examine rather than assume.”

Ortiz had also requested footage from the exterior security system.