“What did the defendant do?”

“He threw a glass of boiling water at me,” I said.

A murmur went through the gallery.

“And then?”

“He locked me in the bedroom,” I said. “He took my phone and my car keys.”

“Why did he want the condo, Elena?”

“He had debts,” I said. “He wanted to sell it to pay them off.”

I looked at Derek.

For a second, his eyes flashed with the old, familiar anger.

But then he looked down at his yellow legal pad, scribbling nothing.

The next day, Stephanie took the stand.

She wore a plain black dress and no makeup.

Her voice was barely a whisper as she answered the prosecutor’s questions.

“Did you assist Derek in forging Elena’s signature?” Vance asked.

“Yes,” Stephanie said.

“Why?”

“He told me we would lose everything if we didn’t,” she said, her voice shaking.

“Did you know about the physical abuse?”

Stephanie looked at me briefly, then looked away.

“I saw the bruises,” she said. “I didn’t say anything because he paid my rent.”

I felt a dull ache in my chest, but no anger.