Chapter 4 - THE LIE I TOLD FOR HIMAt the emergency department, I said:
“I knocked the pot over.”
The nurse asked twice.
I repeated it.
Why?
Because Jason stood outside the curtain.
Because he had driven me there.
Because my handbag and phone were in his car.
Because my company health insurance was tied to Briarstone.
Because he whispered before we entered:
“If you make this into something, everything we built is finished.”
And because part of me still wanted the water to have been an accident.
Intent changes marriage.
Accidents can be forgiven.
The burn surgeon documented injuries inconsistent with a simple splash from below.
Not impossible.
Just unusual.
Most severe burns crossed my left shoulder and upper chest with directional patterns.
I did not know that until later.
At the time, I begged for medication.
Then surgery.
Debridement.
Dressings.
Pain I refuse to describe poetically because there was nothing poetic about it.
Jason visited every day.
Brought flowers.
Answered work emails from my bedside.
Told nurses:
“She’s tough.”
May you like
I loved him for helping me survive the thing I was beginning to suspect he had caused.
That is one of the ugliest sentences of my life.
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