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I only knew silence would not be part of it.
Audrey did not come home that day.
She stayed one more night because the doctor wanted to monitor the baby and the chemical irritation.
I slept in the chair beside her bed.
At 2:03 a.m., she woke and asked if the doors were locked.
I said yes.
She asked if my mother had a key.
I said no.
She asked if Helen could come back.
I said no.
Then she stared at the ceiling for a long time and whispered, “I thought you’d think I was crazy.”
That broke me more than the bruises.
Because bruises tell you where someone was grabbed.
That sentence told me where someone had been trapped.
I took her hand carefully.
“I should have seen it,” I said.
She turned toward me.
“You believed me when you did.”
It was kinder than I deserved.
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