She fixed her glassy stare onto the grain of the wooden table.
“Did a stranger mug you in the city?”
Absolute silence.
I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and finally spoke the name I had been actively avoiding for years. “Did Mark do this to you?”
Her face simply collapsed. It wasn’t a mask of shock or indignation; it was the total, devastating surrender of a prisoner of war. She clamped a shaking hand over her mouth, and the muffled, agonizing sob that tore its way out of her throat sounded so small and broken it barely registered as human.
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