He hit me every day over the tiniest things. burnt toast, a late reply, a wrong look, You made me do this, he did hiss, One night, panic swallowed me whole and I collapsed, At the hospital, he said to them, She slipped in the shower

Sometimes I think back to that hospital room, to the sentence that cracked everything open.

“These injuries aren’t consistent with a fall.”

It wasn’t just medical. It was permission. Permission to tell the truth.

Speaking up didn’t destroy my life.

Staying silent almost did.