Daniel leaped up, slamming his hands on the table, pointing a shaking finger at me. “You can’t do this! You’re my wife! You can’t destroy my whole family over one stupid mistake!”

I reached up and pulled off the dark glasses. My corneas were still an inflamed crimson, the skin around them bruised and peeling. I made him look.

“A mistake is spilling wine, Daniel,” I said, calm. “Your mother aimed a chemical at my face. You held me still so it would hit. Then you lied to the police, abandoned your bride in a trauma ward, and tried to extort me into signing away my rights.

None of that is what’s on that table, though. What’s on that table is a loan your family defaulted on six months ago. That part was always going to come due.

Your arrest just meant my father stopped finding reasons to look the other way.”

Mother slid a second, thicker folder across the wood.