Chapter 2
The silence that followed was deafening.
Every eye in the room turned to Ryan.
He stood there.
Pale as a ghost.
His mouth opening and closing.
But no words came out.
Diane recovered first.
She stepped forward.
Her face twisted with rage.
"He's a child," she spat. "He doesn't know what he's saying."
I stood up.
I turned to my husband.
"Is it true?" I asked.
Ryan looked at me.
Then at his mother.
Then at the floor.
"Sarah, let's just go home," he said quietly.
"Answer me," I said.
My voice was ice.
"Did you know your mother was hitting our son?"
Ryan swallowed hard.
He ran a hand through his hair.
"It's complicated," he said.
I felt something inside me break.
"Complicated?" I repeated.
I picked up Noah.
He buried his face in my neck.
His body still trembling.
"We're leaving," I said.
I walked toward the door.
Ryan followed me.
"Sarah, wait," he said.
I didn't stop.
I kept walking.
Past the silent relatives.
Past the birthday cake that no one would eat.
Out the front door.
The cool evening air hit my face.
I carried Noah to the car.
I strapped him into his car seat.
His cheek was red.
A faint handprint visible.
I kissed his forehead.
"I'm so sorry, baby," I whispered.
"I'm here now. I'll never let anyone hurt you again."
Noah looked at me with those big, sad eyes.
"Don't be mad at Daddy," he said.
"He said Grandma would be mad if I told."
My heart shattered.
Ryan got into the driver's seat.
He started the car.
The ride home was silent.
No one spoke.
I held Noah's hand the entire way.
When we got home, I carried Noah inside.
I ran him a warm bath.
I washed his face gently.
The handprint was still there.
Fading, but still visible.
I helped him into his pajamas.
I tucked him into bed.
"I want to sleep with you tonight," he whispered.
"Of course," I said.
I lay down beside him.
He curled into my arms.
Soon, his breathing steadied.
He fell asleep.
But I couldn't sleep.
I lay there.
Holding my son.
Thinking about everything.
How many times had this happened?
How many times had my husband let his mother hurt our child?
And said nothing.
I got up quietly.
I went downstairs.
Ryan was sitting on the couch.
His head in his hands.
He looked up when I entered.
"Sarah," he said.
His voice broken.
"Don't," I said.
I stood across the room from him.
Looking at the man I married.
Wondering if I even knew him anymore.
"How long?" I asked.
Ryan looked at the floor.
"Six months," he whispered.
"Maybe a little more."
I felt sick.
Six months.
Half a year.
Our son had been suffering.
And his own father had let it happen.
"Why?" I asked.
My voice cracking.
"Why would you let her hurt him?"
Ryan stood up.
He walked toward me.
I stepped back.
"She's my mother," he said.
"I didn't know what to do. She's always been like this. Controlling. Angry. I thought if I just kept the peace, it would stop."
"Kept the peace?" I repeated.
"At our son's expense?"
"I know," he said.
Tears in his eyes.
"I know I was wrong. I'm so sorry. I was a coward."
"You were," I said.
The words came out harder than I intended.
But they were true.
"You were a coward, Ryan. And our son paid the price."
He nodded slowly.
"I know," he said again.
"What do we do now?" I asked.
More to myself than to him.
Ryan reached for my hand.
I let him take it.
His hand was shaking.
"Whatever you want," he said.
"I'll do anything. Just tell me what to do to make this right."
I looked at him.
The man I loved.
May you like
The father of my child.
And I didn't know what to say.
