My mother-in-law shoved me to the kitchen floor. My husband said I deserved it, then left me there all night.

The officers showed up at nine sharp, just like they’d promised.

They brought the temporary restraining order with them.

Officer Carter laid it on the bed in front of me.

It was three pages long, printed on official court paper, the judge’s signature big and bold at the bottom.

“Ethan and his parents were served an hour ago,” she said. “A unit went to the house. They were not happy. Ethan tried to argue, but the officers made it very clear what would happen if he came near you. We also had a talk with the hospital security team. They’ve got your description and Ethan’s. If he shows up here, he’ll be arrested on sight.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice thick. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Just keep being brave,” Officer Mendez said, winking. “That’s all the thanks we need.”

They left after that, promising to check in later in the week.

Dr. Hale came in a little while later to go over my discharge papers.

“Your concussion is mild, but you need to take it easy for the next week,” she said. “No screens, no heavy lifting, lots of sleep. If you start vomiting or your vision gets blurry, come straight back. The cracked ribs will heal on their own in six to eight weeks, but they’re going to hurt. I’m prescribing you something for the pain, but take it easy with it—it’s strong.”

She paused, handing me the stack of papers.

“Elena, I also want to give you the number for a domestic violence advocacy group,” she said, writing on a prescription pad. “They have lawyers who work pro bono—for free. They can help you with the divorce, getting your money back, all of it. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

I took the paper from her.

The name of the group was Her Voice.

I folded it up and put it in my pocket.

Mrs. Greene drove me back to her house an hour later.

It was a small, cozy bungalow with a white picket fence and rose bushes climbing up the front porch.

She’d lived there for forty years, she told me.

She and her husband had raised their two sons in it.

They were both grown now, living out of state.

The second floor was just collecting dust, she said.

She helped me up the stairs to the guest room.

It was painted soft yellow, with a big comfortable bed and a window that looked out over the backyard.

Fresh flowers sat on the nightstand.

“I changed the sheets this morning,” she said, fussing with the comforter. “There are extra blankets in the closet. The bathroom’s right down the hall. If you need anything at all—water, tea, someone to chase away the boogeyman—just holler. My room’s right at the end of the hall, door always open.”

She left me to rest, closing the door softly behind her.

I sat down on the bed.

The mattress was soft.

The room was quiet.

No one yelling.

No one demanding I do something.

For the first time in two years, I was completely alone and completely safe.

I pulled out my phone.

I’d turned it off on the drive home, too scared to look at it.

I took a deep breath and turned it back on.

More texts from Ethan.

More threats.

I blocked his number.

Then I blocked his mom’s.

And his dad’s.

I deleted every message.

Wiped the whole thread clean.

It felt like wiping a stain off my soul.

Then I remembered my bank accounts.

My stomach dropped.

I opened my banking app.

My main checking account.

Balance: $12.47.

My savings account.

The one I’d been putting money into since I was sixteen.

The one I’d planned to use to buy my own house one day.

Balance: $0.00.

I felt sick.

Thirty-two thousand dollars.

Gone.

I clicked on the transaction history.

Two transfers yesterday.

Both to Ethan’s personal account.

He’d done it while I was lying on the kitchen floor.

While I was in the hospital.

He’d stolen every penny I had.

I called the bank, my hands shaking so bad I could barely dial the number.

The customer service rep was polite but firm.

“Ms. Carter, the accounts were joint,” she said. “Your husband had full signing authority. There’s nothing we can do to reverse the transfers unless a court orders it.”

I hung up the phone.

I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

I had twelve dollars to my name.

No clothes.

No car—Ethan had both keys.

No job yet— I was supposed to start my new position next week, but I didn’t know if I was well enough.

I was completely broke.

Completely starting over.

For a second, I almost gave up.

Almost called Ethan.

Almost told him I was sorry, I’d be good, just please give me my money back.

Then I felt the ache in my ribs.