The room soon filled with a social worker and a police officer, their questions stripping away my last secrets. Just then, Ethan entered, Margaret trailing behind, his face a mask of false concern. “Lauren, baby! I was so scared when you slipped!” he cried, reaching for my hand.
My father stood, a wall of denim and protection. Ethan faltered under his gaze, the act crumbling.
“Don’t touch her,” my father said, his voice low and unwavering.
Margaret protested, shrill and entitled. “David, this is a family matter—”
“You’re right,” my father interrupted, eyes never leaving Ethan. “It is a family matter. And you two aren’t family anymore.”
For the first time, the fear that had shadowed me shifted. I saw my husband for who he was: small, hollow, using violence to feel powerful. And I saw my father, whose steady presence outweighed Ethan’s loudest roar.
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