My husband shoved me, shattering the bathroom mirror. His mother sneered, “Clean up this disgusting mess.” But as I fell, my husband roared, “What’s in your pocket?!” The red LED of my federal distress fob pulsed. Denied the third click, I threw myself onto the broken glass, and…

human—a raw, guttural wail of total ruination.

As the agents hauled Vance toward the shattered front doorway, he dug his heels into the hardwood floor, forcing them to stop. He twisted his head, his eyes burning with a mixture of pure hatred and shattered reality, staring intensely at me. He opened his mouth, preparing to unleash whatever venom he had continue reading …