Chapter 13 - WE SEPARATEDaniel moved into his friend Marcus’s guest room when Lily was three weeks old.
Not because I believed he would hurt us.
I didn’t.
Because I could not recover physically while examining every sentence my husband had ever softened.
Was Patricia “upset” actually violent?
Was “a difficult night” an assault?
Was “Rebecca and Mom fought” a slap?
Was “Mom grabbed Sophie because she ran” an injury?
I needed space.
Daniel agreed without making me file anything.
He came to see Lily according to a schedule we made with a family therapist.
At first every visit happened at our house.
Then he took her for short walks.
Then longer visits.
No Patricia.
No exceptions.
He never challenged that condition.
That mattered.
One afternoon he said:
“I know you think I chose Mom.”
“You did.”
He flinched.
“I didn’t choose what happened.”
“No.”
“I chose not to tell you.”
“Yes.”
“I thought I was preventing conflict.”
“You were preventing me from making a decision you might not like.”
He nodded.
Therapy had apparently taught him to stop converting my sentences into attacks.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
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“Does that matter?”
“Eventually.”
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