Yes.
Had I told anyone?
No.
“Why not?”
the officer asked.
I stared at the hospital blanket.
“Because every time afterward, he had a reason.”
Stress.
Fear.
Exhaustion.
My cancer.
His fear of losing me.
His frustration because I refused help.
His childhood.
Alcohol.
Work.
There was always a reason.
Reasons can become a very effective cage when you confuse them with permission.
The hospital social worker came in.
She asked whether I had somewhere safe to go.
My older sister Laura lived forty minutes away.
We had not been close for years.
Cancer changed that.
She answered on the second ring.
“Emily?”
“Can I stay with you?”
Silence.
Then:
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then yes.”
No questions.
I started crying.
Laura arrived at 1:15 in the morning wearing sweatpants and one slipper from one pair and another from another.
She looked at my bandage.
Then at my face.
