Chương 4
My mind kept returning to one thing.
The message.
The simple message that had changed everything.
Help.
Please.
Two words.
A lifetime of consequences.
After we left the clinic, Alex did not drive straight home.
He pulled into a small parking lot near a quiet park and turned off the engine.
“What are we doing?” I asked.
“Waiting.”
“For what?”
“For you to decide what happens next.”
I looked at him.
“You came because I asked for help.”
“Yes.”
“So why are you making me decide?”
“Because this is your life.”
I looked away.
“I don’t feel like it is.”
Alex was quiet.
That silence hurt because it was true.
For years, I had slowly handed pieces of myself away.
First it was small things.
Where we ate.
Who we visited.
How I dressed.
Whether I apologized first.
Then bigger things.
Who I talked to.
What I told my family.
What I was allowed to be upset about.
Eventually, I had become someone who checked Victor’s mood before entering a room.
“I feel stupid,” I said.
Alex frowned.
“Why?”
“Because I let it happen.”
His expression changed.
Not anger toward me.
Anger at the sentence itself.
“No.”
“I should have seen it.”
“No.”
“I knew he was getting worse.”
Alex looked through the windshield.
“My whole life I watched people explain other people’s behavior.”
He paused.
“Your mother explained Dad.”
He looked back at me.
“You explained Victor.”
I swallowed.
“That doesn’t make me innocent.”
“No.”
His answer came quickly.
“And it doesn’t make you guilty.”
The difference between those two things felt impossible to understand.
I stared at the trees across the parking lot.
A man walked by carrying a bag of groceries.
A woman pushed a stroller.
A child dropped something and started laughing while trying to pick it up.
Ordinary things.
Things that felt strangely painful.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now,” I whispered.
Alex nodded.
“That is the honest answer.”
“I thought you would have a plan.”
“I have ideas.”
“What kind?”
“Doctor appointments.”
“Legal advice.”
“A place for you to stay.”
“Making sure you and the baby are safe.”
The list sounded practical.
Almost boring.
That was what made it feel real.
There was no dramatic rescue.
No magical moment where everything became easy.
There were appointments.
Paperwork.
Decisions.
Fear.
Real life.
My phone buzzed.
I froze.
The screen showed Victor’s name.
Alex noticed.
“You don’t have to answer.”
I stared at the call.
Part of me wanted to.
Part of me wanted to hear him say he was sorry.
Part of me wanted proof that the person I loved was still somewhere inside him.
But another part of me remembered standing on the kitchen floor.
I let it ring.
A minute later, another notification appeared.
A message.
Please come home.
We need to talk.
I laughed quietly.
Alex looked at me.
“What?”
“He said we need to talk.”
Alex leaned back.
“Do you?”
I looked at the message again.
For years, conversations with Victor had followed the same pattern.
He would get angry.
I would become afraid.
Then he would explain why he had a reason.
The conversation was never about what happened.
It was about why I caused it.
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
Alex nodded.
“Then don’t answer today.”
I looked at him.
“What if he gets worse?”
“He might.”
The honesty surprised me.
“But you cannot keep yourself trapped because someone threatens to react badly when you leave.”
That sentence followed me long after we drove away.
Alex took me to his apartment.
It was not large.
It was not perfect.
There were dishes in the sink and a pile of unopened mail on the counter.
Normally, I would have teased him.
Instead, I stood in the doorway feeling like I had entered another universe.
A safe one.
“You can take my room,” he said.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Alex.”
“I sleep on the couch.”
“You have back problems.”
“So do you.”
I almost smiled.
It was the first almost-smile I had felt all day.
He noticed but did not mention it.
That was another thing I appreciated.
He did not make every emotion into a conversation.
He showed me where the towels were.
He showed me the extra blankets.
He told me which cabinet had snacks because he knew I got hungry at strange times during pregnancy.
Small things.
Normal things.
Things that reminded me I was still a person.
That evening, while Alex cooked dinner, I sat at the kitchen table watching him struggle with a recipe he clearly did not understand.
“You are burning the chicken,” I said.
He looked over.
“I am not.”
“It is black.”
“It is seasoned.”
I laughed.
A real laugh.
It surprised both of us.
Then the laugh disappeared because my brain remembered where I was.
Alex noticed.
“Hey.”
I looked down.
“I’m sorry.”
“For laughing?”
“For being okay for a second.”
His face softened.
“You are allowed to be okay.”
I looked at the plate in front of me.
“I don’t know how to do that anymore.”
“I know.”
Later that night, I woke up from a nightmare.
Not a dramatic one.
Not something I could easily explain.
Just the feeling of hearing the bedroom door slam again.
I sat up quickly.
For a few seconds, I did not know where I was.
Then I saw the unfamiliar ceiling.
The quiet room.
The lamp beside the bed.
Safe.
The word felt strange.
My phone was on the nightstand.
There were twelve missed calls from Victor.
Three from Helena.
One from Nora.
I stared at the names.
Then I opened Nora’s message.
It was short.
I need to talk to you.
I almost ignored it.
Almost.
Then another message appeared.
I did not know they were going to hurt you.
I read it twice.
My first reaction was anger.
Because it sounded like an excuse.
But then another thought came.
Why would Nora say that?
May you like
She had filmed me.
She had laughed.
