When I walked into the house, I heard voices in the kitchen. My mother’s tone was low and sharp. Ava’s was almost too soft to catch.
Then my mother said, “Smile when he gets home. Or I’ll know exactly what to say first.”
And that was when I understood my wife hadn’t been hiding accidents.
Part 2
I stepped into the kitchen before either of them realized I was home.
Ava stood by the counter with a dish towel in one hand and her other arm pulled tightly against her side. My mother was near the island, perfectly composed, a mug of coffee in front of her as if she had spent the afternoon doing nothing more than chatting. When they both turned and saw me, the room shifted instantly.
Ava looked terrified.
My mother looked irritated.
“You’re early,” Linda said, lifting her mug. “No one told me.”
I ignored her and looked at Ava. “Show me your wrist.”
Her eyes widened. “Caleb—”
“Please.”
Slowly, reluctantly, she lowered the arm she had been shielding. Four darkening finger marks were already forming on her skin.
My mother set her mug down. “Honestly, this is ridiculous. She bruises like fruit.”
I turned to her. “I saw the camera.”
Silence.
For the first time in years, my mother didn’t have an immediate reply. She didn’t gasp or deny it outright. She just studied me, calculating how much I knew.
Then she smiled. “You’re spying on your own family now?”
“No,” I said. “I’m finally paying attention.”
That smile vanished.
Ava whispered, “Caleb, please.”
