People would look at me like I had lost my mind. They would tell me that trauma makes people confused and suggest that I rest.
Then they would call Dominic to come pick me up. The thought made my blood turn to ice.
I forced myself to breathe slowly to keep from hyperventilating. I needed help from outside of his social circle.
That was when my father’s voice returned to me. He had been a cynical man who saw things I did not want to see.
Two years ago, he had been in a hospital room in downtown Chicago. He had gripped my hand with a strange urgency.
“Ayira, I do not trust that husband of yours,” he had said.
I had laughed at him back then. “Dad, stop it, Dominic takes great care of us,” I had replied.
My father had stared at me for a long time. “If you ever need real help, call this person,” he said.
He had pressed a business card into my palm. It said Sarah Jenkins, Attorney at Law.
I had tucked the card into my wallet and tried to forget the conversation. It felt like a betrayal to even keep it.
Now my wallet was likely burning in the remains of my bedroom. But the number was saved in a hidden note on my phone.
My hands shook as I pulled up the contact and tapped the screen. One ring turned into two.
On the third ring, a woman with a firm voice answered. “Attorney Jenkins,” she said.
“Ms. Jenkins, my name is Ayira. My father was Robert Miller,” I blurted out.
“I need help. I think my husband just tried to kill me and my son,” I said.
There was a long silence on the other end. Then she spoke softer. “Robert’s daughter,” she noted.
Hearing my father’s name felt like a hand reaching out to save me. “Where are you right now?” she asked.
I looked around at the chaos and realized I did not even know the name of the side street. “My house is burning in Northfield,” I said.
“Can you drive?” she asked.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Then listen carefully to me. Get in your car right now and do not talk to anyone,” she commanded.
“Drive to this address in the old district,” she said as she gave me the coordinates.
“If anyone calls you, do not pick up the phone,” she added.
I hung up and sat for a second. The phone felt like it weighed a hundred pounds.
“We are leaving,” I told Toby. “We are going somewhere safe.”
I started the SUV and drove away from the fire without looking back. The city felt different after midnight.
Toby fell asleep in the back seat with his dinosaur backpack as his pillow. I kept checking my mirrors for any headlights that followed too closely.
When I reached the old district, the neighborhood was mostly dark. Sarah’s office was in a narrow brick building with a plain wooden door.
Before I could even press the buzzer, the door opened. A woman with gray hair and sharp eyes stood there.
“Ayira?” she asked.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Come in quickly,” she said.
The moment we stepped inside, she locked the door with three separate deadbolts. The sound of those locks clicking gave me a small sense of peace.
The office smelled like old paper and strong coffee. There were framed degrees from prestigious universities on the walls.
“Put the boy on the couch,” Sarah said.
I lifted Toby gently and laid him down. Sarah poured two mugs of coffee and pointed to a chair.
“Tell me everything from the moment you got to the airport,” she instructed.
The words came out in jagged pieces as I described the fire and the key. I showed her the texts from Dominic on my phone.
She listened without interrupting me once. When I finished, I was breathing hard.
“Your father asked me to watch out for you because he knew Dominic was a fraud,” she said.
She walked to a metal filing cabinet and pulled out a thick folder. “Three years ago, your father hired a private investigator,” she revealed.
“What did they find?” I asked.
Sarah opened the folder. “Debt. A staggering amount of it. Your husband has a gambling problem with very dangerous people,” she said.
She slid bank statements across the desk toward me. “He has been bankrupt for two years,” she added.
“He has been patching holes with money that belonged to you,” she said.
“My mother’s inheritance?” I whispered.
“Every single cent of it is gone,” Sarah confirmed.
I felt a surge of rage that was sharper than the fear. “And now?” I asked.
“Now he owes close to half a million dollars to people who do not take excuses,” she said.
“How does burning the house help him pay that?” I asked.
Sarah looked me in the eye. “Life insurance. You have a policy for three million dollars,” she noted.
“And he is the sole beneficiary,” she added.
Toby’s whisper at the airport echoed in my mind. He had heard his father say he was finally going to be free.
“But we did not die,” I said.
“No, and he does not know that yet,” Sarah replied.
“What happens when he finds out we are alive?” I asked.
“He will panic or he will try to finish the job,” she said plainly.
I swallowed hard. “Can we go to the police?”
“Not yet. He has too much influence and time to spin a story about your mental health,” she warned.
She looked at Toby sleeping on the couch. “We need to build a case that he cannot charm his way out of,” she said.
She motioned toward a small back room. “You stay here tonight. It is locked and it is safe,” she promised.
I hesitated at the door. “Why are you doing all of this for us?”
Sarah’s face softened for a moment. “Because your father saved my life when my own husband tried to hurt me,” she said.
“I know exactly what this feels like, Ayira,” she continued.
I stayed awake all night with Toby curled against me. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the fire.
At dawn, Sarah knocked on the door. “Turn on the news,” she said.
We watched the footage of our house in silence. It was a blackened shell.
Then the camera cut to Dominic. He stood in front of the wreckage with a look of practiced horror on his face.
“My wife and my son were in there,” he sobbed for the cameras.
Then he asked a question that made my skin crawl. “Have you found the bodies yet?” he asked.
Sarah clicked the television off. “He is performing for an audience,” she said.
“Ayira, does Dominic have a safe in his home office?” she asked.
“Yes, it is hidden behind a bookshelf,” I replied.
“Do you know the code?” she pressed.
“It is his birthday,” I said.
Sarah nodded. “We need what is inside that safe before it disappears,” she said.
“The police are there,” I argued.
“They will secure the perimeter but they won’t stay inside a charred ruin all night,” she countered.
“Dominic will be at a hotel pretending to grieve,” she added.
Toby sat up on the bed. “I am going with you,” he said firmly.
“No, it is too dangerous,” I told him.
“Mom, I know where he hides the extra things. I watch him,” the boy said.
Sarah looked at me and then at the child. “He is right. We don’t have time for hesitation,” she said.
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