“Thomas hit me,” she said.
I thought I’d misheard. Dad didn’t move. “Once?”
Mom’s silence answered first. Then she whispered, “No.”
For illustrative purposes only
Thomas had been 21. Their parents adored him. Outside the house he was funny and charming, but inside, everyone learned to recognize when his mood was turning. One evening he accused her of stealing money from his bedroom. She hadn’t.
“He shoved me. I shouted back. Then he hit me.” Her fingers drifted toward her nose. “After that, I remember the floor.”
Dad pushed back his chair, and Mom looked up sharply. “Don’t start pacing like you’re going somewhere. It happened 71 years ago.”
“You told me you fell.”
“I was told to say I fell. By my parents.”
Dad laughed once, with no humor in it. “They protected him.”
“They protected what they called the family.”
