“I… I’m busy,” I say in an abnormally high voice. “But I’m fine! Just getting some work done.”
“You told me your husband tortures you and locks you in the attic.”
I suck in a breath. I only said that to him because I thought he didn’t understand. But now it’s clear he understood everything I said. I have to do damage control. I can’t do anything to anger Andy. “How did you get into the house anyway?”
Enzo lets out an exasperated sound. “You leave a key under the potted plant by the front door. Now, where is the key to this room? Tell me.”
“Enzo…”
“Tell me.”
I do know where the key to the attic door is. It doesn’t do me a lot of good when I’m in here, but I could direct him to it. If I wanted to. “I know you’re trying to help, but this isn’t helping. Please—just stay out of it. He’ll let me out later today.”
There’s a long silence on the other side of the door. I hope he’s thinking about whether it’s worth it to get involved in a client’s personal life. And I don’t know what his immigration status is, but I know he wasn’t born here. I’m sure Andy and his family have enough money and power to get him deported if they want.
“Step back,” Enzo finally says. “I will break down the door.”
“No, you can’t!” Tears jump to my eyes. “Look, you don’t understand. If I don’t do what he says, he’ll hurt Cecelia. And he’ll have me locked up—he’s done it before.”
“No. This is just excuses.”
“No, they’re not!” A single tear rolls down my cheek. “You don’t understand the kind of money he has. You don’t understand what he could do to you. Do you want to get deported?”
Enzo is quiet again. “This is wrong. He is hurting you.”
“I’m fine. I swear to you.”
It’s mostly true. My face still feels like it’s burning, and my eyes still sting, but Enzo doesn’t need to know that. In another day, I’ll be completely fine. Like it never happened. And then I can go back to my normal, miserable life.
“You want me to leave,” he acknowledges.
I don’t want him to leave. I want nothing more for him to break the door down, but I know how Andy will twist it around. God knows what he’ll accuse the two of us of doing. I never thought he could get me locked up in a mental institution multiple times just for trying to tell the truth. I don’t want that to become Enzo’s life too. Except Andy had reason to want me to get out—he would have no problem with locking Enzo up indefinitely.
“Yes,” I say. “Please go.”
He lets out a long sigh. “I will go. But if I do not see you tomorrow morning, I will come up here and break the door down. And I will call the police.”
“That’s fair.” I’m down to my last tiny bottle of water, so if Andy hasn’t let me out by the morning, I’ll be in bad shape.
I wait to hear his footsteps walking away. But I don’t hear them. He is still standing on the other side of the door. “You do not deserve to be treated this way,” he finally says.
Then his footsteps disappear down the hallway as the tears run down my cheeks.
Andy lets me out of the room that night. When I finally get to a mirror, I’m shocked at how swollen my eyes look from the pepper spray, and my face is bright red like I was scalded. But by the next morning, I look almost back to normal. My cheeks are pink, like I got a little too much sun the day before.
Enzo is working in the front yard when Andy pulls out of the garage, with Cece strapped into the backseat. He’s dropping her off at school while I rest today. He’s usually very nice to me for several days after he lets me out of the attic. I’m sure tonight he’ll come home with flowers and maybe some jewelry for me. As if that could make up for any of it.
I watch from the window as Andy drives through the gate, pulling out onto the road. After the car disappears, I notice Enzo staring at me. He isn’t usually in our yard two days in a row. He’s here for a reason that has nothing to do with the state of our flower beds.
I come out through the front door to where Enzo is standing with his clippers. It occurs to me how sharp the clippers are. If he drove them through Andy’s chest, that would be the end. Of course, he wouldn’t need to do that. He could probably kill Andy with his bare hands.
“See?” I offer a forced smile. “I told you I’m fine.”