There, hidden in the sleek black glass, was a faint blinking green light. The 360-degree security camera. Motion-activated. It had recorded every frame of it, in 4K, syncing silently to my private cloud.

They thought they’d broken me. They hadn’t realized they’d just handed a surgeon a scalpel.

But as the edges of my vision went black, one terrifying thought cut through the adrenaline: what if the sync failed?

Chapter 3 — Triage

The drive to the ER was an exercise in dissociation. I couldn’t call an ambulance; if paramedics came to the house, David would control the story. He’d say I slipped, that I was hysterical, that I was overworked.

I needed to control the environment.

I drove my Tesla with my right hand only, my left arm up on the center console, the mangled hand wrapped in a blood-soaked dish towel. Every bump in the road sent a shockwave of nausea through my skull.