I had just gotten home from the hospital with a shattered femur when my mother-in-law kicked my crutches out from under me. I hi:t the hardwood floor screaming in agony, only for my husband to grab me by the throat and whisper, “Mom wants the master bedroom, so you’re sleeping in the garage.”

Upstairs, Vivian’s favorite opera began to play. Daniel hated opera, but he would endure anything if it meant avoiding a confrontation with his mother. I pulled the mat aside and found the square beneath it, ordinary-looking, stained, and cracked. Daniel had never noticed details. He noticed watches, cars, compliments, and numbers that made him look richer than he really was. He had never noticed me, and that had been his first mistake.

My hand shook as I pressed the hidden latch. The panel lifted half an inch, and I hooked two fingers under it, nearly sick from the strain. Inside was the safe: small, fireproof, and bolted down. The keypad glowed faint green. I entered the code with my thumb—our wedding date, not because I was sentimental, but because Daniel was predictable. The safe clicked open.

Inside were three things: a prepaid phone, five hundred dollars in cash, and a flash drive labeled Holiday Photos. I turned on the phone and saw three percent battery. I almost cried, not from fear, but from timing. Then I called the only number I had memorized besides Daniel’s.