Chapter 8 - We went to my father’s house
Ellie stayed overnight for observation.
By morning, doctors were confident she could recover at home with wound care and burn-clinic follow-up.
Home became complicated.
Ben and I owned a three-bedroom house twenty minutes from Linda.
Joint mortgage.
Both names.
Ordinarily, we would return there.
I did not want to.
Not because Ben had physically harmed me.
He had not.
Because I could not sleep beside him while replaying:
“You threw it.”
Then watching him say nothing to me.
I told him:
“I’m taking Ellie to Dad’s for a few days.”
His face tightened.
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
“Megan.”
“I need space.”
“She’s my daughter.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t get to remove her from me.”
“I’m not disappearing. I’m telling you where we’ll be. You can see her.”
He looked toward Robert.
My father did not speak.
Good.
This was between parents.
Ben said:
“You’re using her to punish me.”
“No. I’m using Dad’s guest room because I don’t want to sleep next to you.”
That landed.
We agreed Ben could visit the next afternoon at Robert’s.
No Linda.
That condition was obvious to me.
Ben hesitated.
Then nodded.
Child protective services later formalized what common sense already required:
No contact between Linda and Ellie during the investigation.
No unsupervised access arranged through Ben.
Ben agreed.
May you like
If he had refused, our problems would have become much larger.
He did not.
