The first day of the attempt passed in pieces that did not fit together.

Elena stayed in her room until mid-morning. She showered longer than usual and scrubbed between her legs until the thick residual heat of him was mostly gone, then stood under the water until it ran cold and the lower bruises ached in the chill. When she looked at herself in the mirror the marks were still there—dark, deliberate, unchanged by the decision spoken in the kitchen. She pulled on a high-necked sweater and jeans and went downstairs with her hands in her pockets so they would have somewhere to be.

Marcus was in the study with...