The following weeks were brutal.
Statements.
Lawyers.
Hearings.
Expert reports.
People who wanted details.
People who wanted drama.
People who were feigning shock now that the violence had come close enough to shake them but not close enough to compromise them.
Erin tried to break away.
He said he didn’t know everything.
That Steven was exaggerating.
She thought he was only talking about separating.
But the calls, the messages, and the way she came back to the house with him that night ended up destroying her.
Steven, for his part, chose the most predictable path.
He denied it.
Cry.
He complained of stress.
He said I was confused.
Then he said it had been an accident.
He then insisted that he never really meant to hurt us, a phrase that only a monster or a coward can utter when the damage has already been done and he has not achieved the result he expected.
I never responded to him directly after that night.
Not a single word.
Because there are men who turn any female reaction into fuel, and I had already understood that my silence this time was not submission.
It was a death sentence.
Tommy took longer to heal than I did.
Not physically.
That was the shortest part.
The difficult part came later.
