Dr. Dunnigan had been the voice of judgment-free reason when everyone else had given up or been chased off.

He will kill you. He’s escalating. It’s a textbook abuse cycle. He’s going to kill you, Gloria. Soon.

She’d told Gloria that a week ago while fixing her dislocated shoulder. Still she’d stayed. It hurt too much to think about leaving. About doing anything different.

And then last night, it had all changed.

It was just a kid and his friends playing music a little too loud in his first car two trailers down. But to Glenn, it was a reason to posture. He’d ripped him out of his car, thrown him on the ground, and screamed in his face about trying to sleep and peace and quiet and respect.

Humiliation. He dealt in it. Gloria. His co-workers. His mother. Strangers who served him food or expected to be paid for services. There were people in this world who couldn’t feel big unless they were making someone else feel small.

He’d dehumanized her, made her so small she’d all but disappeared. And when she’d tried to stop him last night, he’d thrown her to the ground next to the boy and spat on them both. Stripping them both of their power, their humanity, their worth.

He’d waited until she’d followed him back to the trailer before he slapped her and pushed her down, kicking her once. But he’d spent most of his anger on the boy and, deeming her of no consequence, sat back down to finish watching TV.

And then today, she’d packed her things, retrieved her small stash of cash she’d hidden behind the trailer’s broken skirting, and left the bastard.

“It’s over,” Gloria returned numbly.

All business, Dr. Dunnigan checked her pulse, the dilation of her pupils. She pulled out her stethoscope, cool green eyes skimming what Gloria knew was a necklace of bruises forming around her throat.

The door flew open and bounced off the wall, temporarily obscuring the basket of puppies. Sara Parker, still in her hair-stylist apron, burst into the room. For a woman never prone to dramatics, it was quite the entrance.

“Oh, God. Gloria. Mija!” Gloria didn’t want to see the pity in her mother’s eyes. Didn’t want to acknowledge that her pain hurt her mother as viciously as if it were her own. “When I got that phone call, I thought he’d killed you.”

The words broke down the walls of her shock, and hot tears spilled over onto her cold, pale cheeks. “I’m sorry,” Gloria whispered as the thin, strong bands of her mother’s arms welcomed her.

“My sweet girl. Are you done? Is this the end?” Sara asked.

She nodded. “It’s over. He’s in jail.”