My husband beat me until I lost consciousness, then calmly told everyone at the hospital I had “slipped in the shower.”

Ethan gave a short, disbelieving laugh.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“I brought my wife in for medical treatment.”

“And she is receiving it.”

“She needs me.”

For the first time since I had opened my eyes, I found my voice.

“No.”

It barely sounded like a word.

My throat hurt.

My ribs protested when I breathed.

But Ethan heard me.

Everyone did.

His head turned.

The look he gave me lasted less than a second. To anyone else, it might have seemed like surprise.

I knew better.

There was a question in it.

What have you done?

I closed my eyes.

When I opened them again, Liam was standing closer.

Ethan had been escorted from the room.

The door shut behind him.

And just like that, for the first time in years, there was a locked door between my husband and me that he did not control.

My body began to shake.

Not delicately.

Not like the trembling heroines in films who shed one perfect tear while someone held their hand.

My teeth knocked together. My shoulders jerked. Every muscle seemed to be remembering something my mind was still trying not to see.

Liam pulled a chair beside the bed.

He didn’t touch me.

That was how I knew he understood.

“Maya,” he said gently.

I stared at the ceiling.