Stress.
Work.
His childhood.
His temper.
Judith’s influence.
But patterns become obvious when written chronologically.
By noon, I was staring at three pages.
Rachel read them.
“Amanda.”
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
She pointed toward the pages.
“You’ve been surviving this too.”
I said nothing.
Maybe I had known.
Maybe admitting it would have required making the decision I was finally making now.
Daniel called from another number that afternoon.
I answered without realizing.
“Amanda.”
I nearly hung up.
“Wait.”
His voice sounded calmer.
“I’m sorry.”
I remained silent.
“I lost my temper.”
“You frightened Sophie.”
“I know.”
“You threatened her.”
“I wasn’t actually going to hurt her.”
“You expected a seven-year-old to know that?”
Silence.
“My mother got involved.”
“Your mother encouraged you.”
“She comes from a different generation.”
“Cruelty doesn’t become acceptable because someone is older.”
Daniel sighed.
“You’re making this bigger than it was.”
