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 heard you’d had a hard year,” she said gently.

“You don’t have to tell me details.”

“I’d like to work again when I’m ready.”

She invited me to apply for a part-time position helping with financial reporting.

There was no promise of a job, only a genuine possibility.

I filled out the application myself.

At my interview, I wore a simple blue blouse and brought a folder of work samples I was allowed to share.

I did not mention Martin.