“Dad,” I croaked. I tried to smile, to plaster on the mask I wore for the world, but my face crumpled. My lip quivered uncontrollably.

“Why are you at the subway station?” he asked, his voice low and tight. “Where is your car? I bought you that Kia Forte for your birthday last year. Where is it?”

“I sold it.” The words tasted like ash. “I needed the cash.”

“For what?” The concern in his eyes was hardening into suspicion. “Amara, you look like you’ve been hunted. You haven’t answered my calls in weeks. And where is Darnell?”

Darnell. My husband. The man who was supposed to be my partner but had become my jailer’s assistant. The mention of his name broke the dam.

“Dad,” I whispered, glancing around at the commuters. “Not here. Please.”