The attorney dropped a stack of documents on my lap. Even through the dark lenses I could read the headings. The agreement required me to waive all civil and criminal claims against Vivian, to describe the injury as self-inflicted, and — buried on page four — to transfer my legal interest in all wedding gifts, cash included, to Daniel.

I sat there almost paralyzed by a strange awe at the pure, unadulterated greed of it.

“I need time to read this,” I whispered, shrinking into the pillows, playing the frightened mouse they expected.

Daniel’s charm slipped, and the bully underneath came through. He leaned in close, his breath smelling of gin. “You don’t have options, Claire. Your pathetic little museum salary won’t cover the deductibles for these eye specialists.

Sign the paper. Don’t make me angry today.”

The hospital door swung open with a thud.