“No,” I said. “She locked them in her personal safe in the master bedroom.”

“When I asked for them, she told me I was becoming addicted.”

“She said I didn’t need them and that I was just being dramatic.”

“Did you experience physical symptoms from the lack of medication?”

“My head pounded constantly,” I said. “I felt dizzy, and my heart was racing.”

“I told her I felt like I was going to pass out, but she just laughed.”

“She told Ethan that I was losing my mind.”

Harris wrote quickly, his pen scratching against the paper.

“And what about Courtney?” he asked.

I swallowed hard, the memory of the physical confrontation making my stomach churn.

“Two days ago, I tried to leave,” I said. “I had Owen in my arms.”

“I made it to the front hallway near the door.”

“Courtney blocked the exit.”

“What did she do?” Harris asked.

“She grabbed my wrists,” I said, pulling back my hospital sleeve to show him the fading yellow and purple bruises.

“She squeezed them until I dropped my bag.”

“Then she physically dragged me backward into the living room.”