My brother stole my ATM card and withdrew all the money from my account.

And by the time Jason threw me out, the bank’s fraud department had already begun calling.

I spent that first night in my car behind a twenty-four-hour grocery store, parked under a flickering light with my suitcase in the back seat and my heart pounding so hard I thought I might be sick.

At 11:17 p.m., my phone rang again from an unknown number—the third time. I finally answered.

“Ms. Claire Bennett?” a woman asked.

“Yes.”