During those first moments in the ER, I kept replaying the scene in my mind. The way Patricia’s face had contorted with rage when I tried to leave. How Gerald had actually laughed when I’d stumbled trying to get to the door. The weight of Tyler’s briefcase hitting the floor echoed louder in my memory than my own screams.

A plastic surgeon was called in to consult on the burns. Dr. Rachel Martinez examined me with careful hands, her expression growing more serious as she assessed the damage.

“These are deep,” she said quietly. “We’ll need to focus on keeping infection away right now, but you’re going to need multiple grafting procedures. I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

Her kindness cracked something open inside me. I started crying and couldn’t stop, even as they wheeled me toward the operating room. A nurse held my hand the entire way, telling me over and over that my baby would be okay, that I was going to be okay, that I was safe now.

Safe.