Every time my brother-in-law drove me home, I would lose consciousness and wake up with unexplained aches and pains. My husband would only laugh and say, “You’re just out of shape, that’s all.” After the fourth ride, I secretly slipped a voice recorder into my purse and said nothing. That night, I listened to a phone conversation between the two of them that revealed my blackouts had never been accidental.
I could remember loving him in that moment.
I could also understand that loving someone did not obligate me to remain inside the harm they caused.
I picked up my last box and left.
The door clicked shut behind me.
Nothing dramatic happened.
No music rose, no one applauded.
I took the elevator down and stepped into daylight.
PART 22
