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.”

“I used to audit municipal fraud cases for his unit.”

After a pause, the dispatcher answered with new respect.

“Understood.”

I smiled into the darkness. Vivian wanted the master bedroom. Daniel wanted the house. But I had the books, the recordings, and the one thing neither of them had ever respected: a working brain. By the time the sirens arrived, I was ready.

Part 3
The police did not kick the front door open. They rang the bell, and somehow that made it better. I heard Vivian’s heels clicking across my floor, slow and irritated. The opera lowered, the lock opened, and she used her sweet church voice.

“Can I help you?”