“OH, THANK GOD!” MATT’Svoice is broken, simultaneously tearful and relieved, trailed by a gasp of thankfulness. “Baby, where are you? I’ve been phoning hospitals and police stations all over the state! My God, are you in a ditch somewhere?”
“We’re okay.” I get the words out, and then my throat locks up. He sounds so worried, so sweet and loving. My heart tugs into a whirlwind of happy memories, of the beautiful moments we shared, of how much fun we’ve had. Of the way his voice broke when he read his vows at our wedding, with all the love and emotion we’d built together.
“Well, where are you? Is Arianna all right?” Matt demands.
“She’s okay.”
I know I sound flat. Maybe shaky. I know Jasper is right outside the door. I feel myself weakening. Maybe this has “scared him straight.” If Matt is this worried, isn’t that proof he loves me?
From outside in the hall, I hear Jasper’s pacing footsteps. He’s worried about me.
The stranger I met last night, who took me in, fed me, clothed me, and protected me from leering strangers, was there when I ran from this “kind, loving, worried” man. It makes me take a breath, and in the silence, Matt grows impatient.
“If you’re okay, why the hell aren’t you home? Why did you disappear? If this is a prank, Loretta, I swear to—”
My brain shuts off as the volume shifts, and the tone changes. Stress turns to anger. I mean, I understand that. I would be angry, too, if Matt disappeared without warning.
“I know you’re angry.” My voice is just flat. I know the angry waves that are rolling, all too well. Matt never stops until he’s ready to stop. But not this time. My quiet monotone halts him. I keep going, seizing the opening. “You’re angry all the time.”
“Well, yeah, of course I’m angry when my wife runs out, says she’ll drive around the block, and then vanishes overnight!”
“I left because you were angry. You kicked the crib. You were screaming. Out of control, all because we lost a babysitter. Life happens.” My backbone stiffens up with the distance between us. I look at my knees as I perch on the end of the bed, and my eyes fix on the bruises. They’re not from beatings, but they’re from shoving and pushing, from his impatient, angry gestures. The bruises on my arms are from his fingers digging and biting into my skin, from being shaken and slammed into walls while he screams in my face.
Matt says I’m clumsy, and he’s right. I’ve gotten more clumsy and less confident, always tired, always on edge.
“You’re always tired. Always on edge. Me, too. That’s life right now. That’s life with a new baby. That’s life with work, and working at home is hard, too.”
“Sitting around on your lazy—”
“I am not lazy. I work as many hours as you do, at different jobs! I work more when you think about it. You clock out, come home, and I’m still cooking, washing, cleaning, and taking care of the baby. I’m still up in the night, feeding her, changing her, and soothing her back to sleep. I work eighteen or twenty-hour days, and do it while making sure a helpless child survives. You put her in danger when you’re angry. You shove me and shake me when you’re mad. That’s not okay.”
“I never—”
“That’s. Not. Okay.” Something steely seeps into my normally placating voice.
Matt must be startled. He’s silent for a beat, and then his tone changes, crawling and sweet. “You’re right. You are totally right, Loretta. I’ve been a stressed, angry, tired jerk. It’ll never happen again.”
“That’s right. I’m not going to let it happen again. I’m not coming h—” I swallow over the word home. “I’m not coming back.”
“What? Loretta! I made one little mistake. You’re just going to quit on us? I thought you said you didn’t believe in divorce? You’re the one who wanted to live this modern suburbanite bullshit?”
“Being afraid in your home, being afraid of someone you love—” I choke on the words and realize that yes, I do still love him, but not all of him. I can’t love a monster who abuses his wife and endangers his baby. “I amcoveredin bruises, Matt. It’s not one little mistake. What if the crib had tipped over last night? What if you’d grabbed my arm when I was holding Ari, and I’d dropped her?”
“I wouldn’t have done that!”
“You don’t know that. You keep saying I’m clumsy. Keep saying I’m useless. The more you attack with your words and your fists, the more you make that true. If you love me—you’ll let me go. You’ll let me be safe and strong, let me get back on my feet so I can be a good mom to our child.”
“This is that crazy post-partum stuff, isn’t it?” Matt’s voice is suddenly skeptical.
“Nope. This is that ‘I had a wake-up call’ stuff.” I change tactics. “Maybe you’re right. I’m not what you need. You need a strong career woman who contributes to the household, so it takes the stress off of you.” I bite my lip. Such a coward. I’m just shoving another woman in my place, so I can get free. I think his anger would find her, maybe because she worked too late, or laughed too much at a colleague’s joke. Would he be threatened if she earned more? Have to “put her in her place”? “But first, you need help. You need help, and you need to move on.”
“Oh, no. No, no, Loretta Lane. You are my wife, and you have my baby. You come home now, or I’ll drag you home.”
“No.” One word.
A lot of words. Threats. Demands. Pleading. It’s a blur of garbage that I don’t believe.
When he takes a breath, I say it again. “No.”
