Just 11 minutes after I returned from the hospital with a shattered femur, my mother-in-law kicked my crutches away. Ignoring my agonized screams, she and my husband dragged me into a pitch-black garage.

I do not think of it with fear anymore.

I think of it with gratitude.

Because that cold, filthy corner of the garage was where they abandoned me.

And it was also the place where I discovered the weapon that ultimately set me free.