Every time my brother-in-law drove me home, I would black out and wake up sore. My husband just laughed and said I was out of shape. After the fourth trip, I hid a voice recorder in my purse — and that night I heard a phone call that made me realize the blackouts had never been accidents.

That drive takes twenty-five minutes on a bad night. I have done it about four hundred times.

My neck ached, properly, the way it does after you have slept somewhere wrong.

There was something sharp low in my back when I turned.

And my tights had gone at one knee — a ladder about four inches long that had not been there when I left that office.

And the thing that actually frightened me — before I understood one single thing about any of it — was the seat.

It was reclined about four notches further than I have ever put it. I am five foot two. I drive with the seat forward. That seat was almost flat.

Aurelio was not in the car.

I sat in that seat for about four minutes without moving at all.

Because it had happened three times before.

It is always the same. Esteban has a late client dinner, or a thing at the firm, and he sends his brother to collect me from the office.