Nor did she, frankly. Desdemona’s skills lay not in problem-solving or in social situations. They did not lie in being a mother and certainly did not lie in being a wife. They did not lie in whatever this was.

She knew she had made a mistake.

She also knew there was no way for her to rectify it.

What if the same was true of Arthur’s mistake?

“You will ask my parents for assistance,” Desdemona said after a long pause, initiating a loud sniff. If things were as bad as he said, her dowry was likely long gone, and Dezzie could not return to a work that terrified her to her very core.

“You will arrange with them some way by which to make amends for this assistance. And you will find some way, any way, to ensure you never set foot inside the casino again.”

It was a bandage upon a bullet hole—no, a hole left by a cannonball—but it was a start.