Chapter 2 - The Key in His Hand
The key was small, brass, and warm from Dad's palm. A square of masking tape was wrapped around it. On the tape, in his cramped handwriting, he'd written GARAGE.
"What's this?" I asked.
"Nothing you need," Mom said, reaching for it.
I closed my fist before she could touch it.
Dad pushed his chair back. "I kept a box in the workbench. If it hasn't been thrown out during the repairs, it's still there."
"You promised me," Mom hissed.
I stared at him. "A box of what?"
"Dates. Pictures. Things I was too scared to say out loud."
Mom's mouth opened, but no sound came. For the first time that night, she looked worried.
I told them both to stay downstairs and went to our bedroom. Emily was sitting on the bed with a cold washcloth against her scalp. A thin red line showed between her dark hair. She moved away when I tried to touch her shoulder.
"Please don't," she said.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For Mom. For tonight."
"Daniel, I'm asking what you're sorry for."
I sank into the chair by the window. Our wedding picture sat on the dresser: Emily laughing, me looking at her instead of the camera. I couldn't remember the last time she'd looked that unguarded in our house.
"I saw her do it," I said. "And my first instinct was to manage everybody's reaction. Not protect you."
Emily lowered the washcloth. "You've spent seven years making me feel rude for noticing when someone hurts me."
I wanted to tell her I'd change. The words felt cheap before they reached my mouth.
"Dad says he kept records," I said instead.
"Good for him." Her voice wasn't cruel. It was exhausted. "I kept records, too."
She opened her phone. There were photos of a purple wrist, a cracked coffee mug, a scrape beneath her collarbone. Dates beneath each one. One picture was taken four days after our wedding.
"Why didn't I know about these?" I asked.
Emily's eyes filled. "You did know. You just didn't want them to mean anything."
Emily turned her screen face down. "I need to tell you something before you go back down."
May you like
I waited.
"I've had a suitcase packed in the closet for three months."
