My Teenage Daughter Wrote Me a Letter Begging Me to Believe Her Pain — I Found It Five Weeks Later, Tucked Inside My Husband’s Jacket
“So he knew,” Martha said.
Her voice had dropped to something very low and very level, a register she did not recognize in herself.
“He didn’t misunderstand anything.
He knew the testing was still required.
He knew, and he buried it.”
Chapter 9 — The Fear of a Fight
Across the small room, Irene had begun to cry, not the loud crying of a child but the contained, apologetic crying of someone who has learned to do even this quietly.
“I thought,” she managed, “I thought if I kept saying it hurt, if I kept complaining about it, you and Dad would end up in this huge fight.
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