Chapter 1 - THEY CAME TO SEE ME BROKEN
Three days after I fell down twelve hardwood stairs, my husband walked into my hospital room dressed like he was attending a fundraiser.
Burgundy suit.
White shirt.
Polished shoes.
Not a wrinkle anywhere.
I was in a hospital gown with both lower legs immobilized, my right knee locked inside a brace, purple bruises running along my shoulder and hip.
Derek looked at the casts before he looked at my face.
Then he smiled.
“Still dramatic, I see.”
His mother entered behind him.
Elaine Mercer wore a cream suit and pearls.
My father-in-law, Walter, followed more slowly.
He looked older than he had three days earlier.
Derek came to the side of the bed.
I did not move.
That bothered him.
For nine years of marriage, silence had usually meant I was preparing to forgive him.
This time it meant something very different.
He leaned over me.
“You could’ve prevented all this.”
“By doing what?”
“Listening.”
His fingers closed around my jaw.
The pain was not severe.
The humiliation was.
His mother watched.
Elaine actually smiled.
“Maybe the hospital will finally teach you how exhausting stubborn women are,” she said.
Walter looked toward the door.
“Derek, that's enough.”
Derek ignored him.
He lowered his face toward mine.
“Stay broken and obedient.”
I drove my left cast into his cheek.
He stumbled sideways.
Elaine gasped.
Walter threw up both hands.
Derek caught the bed rail.
For one second, even I was shocked by what I had done.
Then he straightened.
The arrogance returned.
“You think that changes anything?”
He lunged back toward the bed.
I shoved the cast against his chest.
He recoiled again.
“You still need me,” he hissed.
“No.”
I reached beside my pillow.
A small digital recorder lay under the edge of my blanket.
Derek saw it.
His face changed.
Elaine's smile disappeared.
I raised it.
“I recorded everything, Derek.”
Elaine stepped forward.
“What did you do?”
Someone knocked hard on the hospital-room door.
Derek froze.
I picked up my phone.
My attorney, Caroline Shaw, was already on the call.
She had been listening for twelve minutes.
“Caroline?” I said.
“I’m here.”
Derek stared at me.
Elaine stared at the recorder.
Walter stared at something else.
The muted television mounted across the room had switched to a local news report.
A helicopter image showed a familiar stone house in Villanova.
Elaine’s house.
Their driveway was filled with unmarked vehicles and Pennsylvania State Police cruisers.
Investigators were carrying evidence boxes through the front entrance.
Elaine slowly turned toward the screen.
“No.”
Derek grabbed his phone.
“What the hell is this?”
I leaned back against the pillows.
“The search warrant your mother told everyone would never happen.”
His head snapped toward me.
“You did this?”
“No.”
That answer confused him.
I had given my lawyer financial records.
I had reported what happened on the stairs.
But search warrants were not handed out because a furious wife made a phone call.
Investigators had been building something before Derek ever walked into my hospital room.
Walter knew that.
I could tell from his face.
Elaine turned on him.
“What did you tell them?”
“Nothing.”
“Walter.”
“I said nothing.”
He sounded frightened.
Derek looked between his parents.
For the first time since entering the room, he seemed unsure whom he should control first.
Walter stepped closer to my bed.
Elaine grabbed his sleeve.
“Don't.”
He pulled away.
It was the most resistance I had seen from him in years.
Then he looked directly at me.
“Abigail.”
Elaine said his name sharply.
He ignored her.
His voice dropped.
“If they haven't found the blue ledger yet, tell your attorney to make them check my workshop.”
Elaine went white.
Derek stopped moving.
I stared at Walter.
“What blue ledger?”
His answer never came.
Elaine seized his arm.
“We're leaving.”
Derek followed her.
But before the three of them reached the doorway, a hospital security officer stepped inside.
“Mr. Mercer?”
Derek stopped.
“There are investigators downstairs asking to speak with you.”
His confidence disappeared so completely that, for a moment, he looked like a stranger.
I watched him leave.
Then I looked at the television again.
Police were still carrying boxes out of the house where I had nearly been left at the bottom of a staircase.
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And I realized the question was no longer whether my husband and his parents had hurt me.
The question was what they had been willing to break my body to keep hidden.
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