But now, when he says what he does, staring directly in my face and only a foot away, I react. I’m not even aware I’m doing it. I’m watching from above as this crazy woman reaches out and open-palm slaps Max’s face so hard he falls to the floor. Falls to the floor. He catches himself, catlike, landing on his hands and knees, and the thunking of his bony kneecaps against the hardwood is gut-twisting.

I immediately crouch next to him on the floor, touch his shoulder. Max looks up to me with wide eyes that narrow after a second.

He doesn’t cry.

I think that’s the worst part.

Max is a crier, always has been. Always held his emotions on his sleeve. But in this moment, as he looks up at me from the floor, his face tells me nothing. No anger, no fear, no sadness. Just like Tasha Collins earlier today, just an emotionless stare, an assessment. He’s judging me in an entirely new light, as if suddenly realizing he’s been raised by a monster.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” I say, wanting to cry the tears he doesn’t. “I didn’t mean that. It just happened. But what you said. Max, you can’t talk to me like that. I can’t hit you, and you can’t talk to me like that. Ever. Okay?”

He says nothing, and now it’s scaring me a little, as if I’ve knocked him into some kind of new reality. I sit on the floor and pull him in toward me. He doesn’t resist, but he doesn’t hug back. Limp as a puppet.

“Are you listening to me?” I whisper, and the first tear falls down my cheek. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes,” he says.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m so sorry. You know that, right?”

“I know.” His voice is robotic.

“Look at me,” I say. I pull back and he makes eye contact. It usually takes me asking him a few times before he does, but not now. A faint red glow blossoms on his left cheek, deepening my shame.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

He nods, keeping his gaze fixed.

“Did you mean it?” I say. “What you said. Did you really mean that?”

He doesn’t answer. He’s somewhere else now, far distant, but inches away.

“Sometimes our anger gets the best of us,” I say. “We say or do things we don’t really mean, and then it’s too late to take it back. We’re both wrong here. All we can do is promise to be better with each other and move on.”

Max remains silent, gaze both at and beyond me.

The housekeeper, Abril, walks into the room and looks over to us on the floor. I forgot she was even in the house and wonder what she’s heard.

“Oh, hello, Miss Rose.”

“Hi, Abril.”

Max moves his gaze from me to the floor.

“I’m leaving for the evening,” she says. “Anything else you need?”

So many things, I think.