ADVERTISEMENT
I could picture it perfectly: my Evelyn, sixty-nine years old but with a spine of steel, standing up to that arrogant boy.
“I heard them shouting,” Maya said. “I ran downstairs. Mom was holding the bank statements. She was telling him he was a thief, that he’d betrayed her trust, that she was going to call the police.”
“He just… he snapped. He grabbed her arm. He yelled at her to mind her own business. Mom tried to get to the phone and he… he just… he shoved her. He shoved her, Dad. Hard. With both hands. She… she flew backward. She hit the bottom stair and… and she didn’t get up.”
She dissolved into hysterical sobs, clinging to my shirt.
Her story finished, I held her. My body was rigid. My mind was painting the picture over and over: my wife, my strong, brave Evelyn, lying broken on the floor. All because of him. Because of that leech I’d let into my family.
I must have sat there for another hour, stewing in my rage, rocking my daughter while she cried. The hum of the lights was the only sound—until a new voice broke through.
“Mr. Harrison?”
I looked up. A man in a tired suit stood there, looking like he’d seen too much of the world.
“I’m Detective Miller,” he said, flashing a badge. “I need to ask you and your daughter a few questions. Your wife, Mrs. Harrison—she’s out of surgery. She’s stable, but in intensive care. She’s not awake.”
“Okay,” I said, helping Maya sit up.
“That’s right,” I said firmly. “My daughter saw it all.”
Continue reading…
ADVERTISEMENT