My eyes looked up to Rosaria, but she was caught in my story. She was leaning forward, her hands clenching the blankets. Looking back down, I continued.

“Her father basically locked her down in their residence until our wedding, which was six months away. Two months later, she showed up on this very doorstep covered in bruises and crying. She begged me to let me stay, that her father’s men were brutal, and she didn’t feel safe.”

My eyes caught Rosaria’s. “Unlike you, she was lying. ...