Bent beside the trash can.
One hand across my abdomen.
Her eyes went directly to the dressing.
“What happened?”
Daniel answered immediately.
“She got sick again. Her wound started bleeding.”
Rachel did not look at him.
She looked at me.
“I asked her.”
Daniel moved closer until I could feel his leg beside my chair.
I knew exactly what he expected.
For weeks, I had been making excuses.
Not because I thought what he did was normal.
Because cancer had made my world small.
Could I eat?
Could I sleep?
Could I make it through tomorrow’s appointment?
Could I get through one evening without an argument?
When your body is weak, avoiding conflict can begin to feel like survival.
But Rachel was standing there.
She had seen the dressing fifteen minutes earlier.
So I stopped protecting him.
“He pushed my head over the trash can.”
Daniel laughed once.
“She’s medicated.”
