“No!” I sobbed, sliding down onto the cold marble as a fresh wave of pain tore through my chest wall. “Please, no.”

Footsteps came down the hall. Garrick appeared in the doorway, his face blank as he stepped over my legs to keep his linen trousers off the wet floor.

“Garrick, please,” I begged, reaching for his ankle, my vision blurring. “She threw away my medication. I can’t breathe.”

He looked down at me, his green eyes without a trace of warmth, entirely detached from the woman he’d promised to protect.

“Mom’s right. You’re milking this whole cancer thing,” he said. “I’m sick of the whining.”

Then he swung his shoe forward and kicked my sterile supplies and my backup surgical drain bags into the trash bin.

“Get up, Audrey. Go mow the lawn in the hundred-and-six-degree heat. Maybe some manual labor will remind you of your actual duties to this family instead of lying around feeling sorry for yourself.”

He turned and walked out. Miriam trailed after him like a shadow.

His cruelty broke the last illusion I’d held about my marriage — but it didn’t break me. The shaking stopped. The submissive, frightened wife who’d spent years trying to please them died right there on the tiles, and something cold and clear took her place.

I dragged myself across the floor, reached behind a loose baseboard beneath the vanity, and pulled out a prepaid burner phone I’d hidden there. I flipped it open with steady hands and dialed a number I hadn’t called in five years.

Part 2 — The Call

It rang twice.

“Vanguard Capital.” The voice was crisp and calm.

“They took the pills, Ethan,” I whispered. “He just told me to go mow the lawn.”