Meanwhile, Steve had taken a seat on the bench and was staring at the clock on the wall. It said it was just before nine o’clock now, so he figured his clothes would be dry by a little after nine thirty. Which was well before ten.

And then he went back to work, poring over his books, making sure he knew about all the things that could hurt him and all the things he needed to be afraid of.

Marvalyn finally got the ornery ironing board folded up again and latched into a closed position, and, as she turned to put it away, she somehow managed to wallop Steve in the head with it—in exactly the same way that she had not even twenty minutes ago. And Steve went flying off the bench again, in much the same way as he did earlier, and keened, “OW!”

Marvalyn jumped and cringed when she hit Steve this second time. “Oh, no!” she cried, dropping the ironing board and rushing to Steve. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Oh, honey, I can’t believe I just did that to you again! Are you okay?!?”

“OW!” howled Steve.

“I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“OW!” moaned Steve. He was clearly in pain.

“I’m so sorry—where did I get y—” Marvalyn interrupted herself when she realized what Steve had just said. “Wait: What did you just say?”

“Ow,” Steve replied. He looked bewildered and terrified.

And he was crying.

For the first time in his life, possibly.

Because he was in pain. For the first time in his life.

And he was afraid—for the first time in his life. Because he had no idea what was happening to him.

Marvalyn saw the tears rolling down Steve’s face.

And she saw his pain.

And his fear.

And she wanted to rush to him and comfort him. And make sure he was okay.

But she didn’t. Because she realized that—maybe for the first time in his life—he was okay. Or—he was going to be okay. Because he was going to have to learn how to work through pain. Just like she—and just about everybody else in the world—had to.

And besides—she wouldn’t have been able to make him okay.

Because she couldn’t make anyone else okay.

She could only make herself okay.

And she needed to get to work on making herself okay.

So she grabbed her laundry basket and told Steve that she was sorry—so sorry—but she had to go.

And she started to flee but stopped before she exited the laundry room. “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now—but you’re gonna be okay.”

And then she exited the laundry room and ran down the hall and rushed up the stairs and into the living room and was about to go up to her room on the third floor—when she stopped again.

Because she didn’t want to go upstairs. Because Eric was there. And she didn’t want to see him. Ever again.

And she decided then and there that she was going to leave him.