Bennett looked down just as I lifted my right leg.
His expression changed a fraction too late.
I drove the heel of my shoe down across the top of his foot.
Not wildly.
Not to punish him.
Just hard enough to make the man blocking the only exit react on instinct.
He shouted and folded forward.
I moved.
My shoulder brushed past him as I reached for the brass deadbolt.
Seraphina grabbed the back of my blouse.
“Josephine!”
The fabric pulled tight across my shoulders, but I twisted away, keeping one arm curved protectively around my stomach.
My other hand closed around the lock.
Turn.
Pull.
The front door opened.
Fresh air hit my face.
For one second, none of us moved.
I think they had expected the locked door to do more than keep me physically inside.
They had expected it to restore the old rules between us—the rules where they demanded, I negotiated, and eventually I paid.
But the door was open now.
So were my eyes.
I stepped onto the porch.
Bennett came after me, limping.
“Josephine, wait.”
I turned so quickly he stopped.
“Do not touch me.”
He raised both hands.
“Okay.
Fine.
Nobody’s touching you.
Mom got upset.
Everybody got emotional.”
Behind him, Seraphina appeared in the doorway.
“Do not make a public spectacle out of this,” she said.
I almost laughed.
A public spectacle.
That was what frightened her.
Not shoving her pregnant future daughter-in-law into a wall.
Not demanding an ATM card and PIN.
Not watching her son lock the door.
Being seen.
I reached into the side pocket of my purse and pulled out my phone.
Bennett’s eyes dropped to it.
Then to me.
“What are you doing?”
I held the phone against my palm.
The screen faced me, not them.
“You told me I couldn’t leave until I paid.”
His face tightened.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You did.”
“No, I said we needed to finish the conversation.”
I stared at him.
He had denied his own words less than sixty seconds after speaking them.
That was when I knew what my next six weeks were going to look like if I stayed.
