Chapter 10 - Jenna
Ben’s sister Jenna had spent most of her adult life managing Linda.
She was thirty-eight.
Divorced.
Caleb’s mother.
She called me four days after the incident.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Not warning you.”
My stomach tightened.
“About coffee?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Mom’s discipline thing.”
I sat.
“What discipline thing?”
Jenna exhaled.
“When Caleb was two, she slapped his hand hard enough to leave marks because he kept touching a Christmas village.”
My heart raced.
“What did you do?”
“I lost it.”
“Did Ben know?”
“Probably.”
“Did Linda do anything else?”
“Nothing like this.”
There.
That family phrase.
Nothing like this.
Jenna continued:
“She put hot sauce on Caleb’s thumb once because he was sucking it.”
“What?”
“Tiny amount.”
“That’s insane.”
“I know.”
“Did you keep letting her babysit?”
Silence.
“Yes.”
That answer softened my anger.
Not because it was okay.
Because families normalize gradually.
“Why?”
“She apologized. Mom said she grew up with old-school discipline. I set rules.”
“Did she follow them?”
“Mostly.”
Mostly.
Then Jenna said:
“I should have told you.”
“Yes.”
“I thought she disliked your parenting more than mine but wouldn’t actually do anything.”
“Yes.”
We were both right about pieces.
Wrong about risk.
Jenna provided police with old texts.
Linda after the hand slap:
Fine, I’ll leave discipline to you if you want him running the house.
Two years later:
Megan is raising Ellie exactly the same way.
Pattern.
Not prior felony abuse.
Control.
Anger.
May you like
Belief in physical consequences.
Escalation.
