At dinner, my sister threw water on my pregnant wife’s dress and sneered, “Don’t sit there, that’s my spot.” My mom laughed, “Pregnancy makes you clumsy,” while my dad sent her to eat in the kitchen. My wife silently grabbed her coat. I grabbed my keys—and called the travel concierge. “Cancel the first-class flights and VIP Mediterranean cruise resort.” On Monday, my family arrived at the airport with designer luggage. Then security escorted them out.

I didn’t look at him. I didn’t look at any of them. I led my wife out the front door, the heavy oak clicking shut behind us.

 

As I helped my weeping, shivering wife into the passenger seat of my car, buckling her in, my eyes darkened, completely devoid of mercy. I walked around to the driver’s side, completely, entirely unaware that the phone call I was about to make would turn their Mediterranean dream into a brutal, inescapable nightmare…

 

Chapter 2: The Digital Guillotine

The drive back to our home was suffocatingly quiet, save for Clara’s soft, residual, shuddering sobs.

I turned the heated passenger seat up to its maximum setting and blasted the car’s heater, my right hand gripping hers so tightly my knuckles were stark white against the steering wheel. I kept my eyes fixed on the road, operating on a cold, mechanical adrenaline.