“Too tight, Miss Clara?” Rosa whispered, her eyes full of unspoken concern.

She’d seen the yellowing bruises on my shoulders when I took off my robe.

She hadn’t said a word, but her hands had trembled.

“It’s exactly as we planned, Rosa,” I whispered back, holding her gaze in the mirror.

Rosa nodded once, a sharp, decisive movement. Three weeks earlier, I had secretly visited Rosa’s modest apartment in Brooklyn.

I paid her double her yearly salary in cash to make a very specific, highly unusual alteration to the bridal gown.