I tried to lift my hand.
Nothing.
Only the smallest movement in my right index finger.
Panic rose through me like fire, but my body refused to obey.
Then memory returned.
The previous night.
The kitchen.
My sister Sabine arriving without warning.
Her smile too bright.
A mug of warm milk dusted with cinnamon.
“You look exhausted,” she had told me.
“Drink this before you collapse.”
I remembered taking three or four sips.
Then Preston entering the kitchen.
I had confronted him about a transfer I’d found in our joint account.
Forty-two thousand dollars.
Sent to a company I didn’t recognize.
Fallow Bridge Consulting.
Preston had dismissed it as a business transaction.
I had asked him to show me the invoice.
He had become angry.
Sabine had told us both to stop fighting.
Then the room had tilted.
My knees had weakened.
I remembered Preston catching me before I hit the floor.
