CHRIS HAD CONFISCATED my phone, so I had no way to communicate with my daughter. He had taken my purse and, with that, any money that I had accumulated, but he did leave a digital clock on the nightstand so I didn’t lose all sense of reality. It was around four-thirty in the afternoon, still light outside with a strong mountain sun shining in through the bedroom window. He’d been gone about five hours. In that time, I managed to find several towels to dry my body and my hair as best I could. I got dressed in one of the three or four loose-fitting dresses I had packed. They were all short-sleeved, and if I forced the issue, I could accommodate my cast through the armhole. After that, I was exhausted. I napped for a few hours, and when I woke up, I woke up with resolve. I had made a total mess of my life. It seemed at every turn, I had chosen the road less traveled and had wound up lost. But while I was still breathing, I cracked on.

I removed my clothes from the closet and the drawers. I tried to be neat about it. He came in right when I started folding my dresses. He was saying something, but I couldn’t make out the words. As soon as he reached the bedroom, he stopped talking. I glanced at him. He was leaning against the doorjamb, staring at me.

“What are you doing?”

Another quick glance. His face, as expected, was angry. I said, “I’m not anyone’s whipping boy.”

“Whipping boy?” His eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about? I didn’t beat you. We had sex.”

“You raped me.”

“I didn’t rape you—”

“Yes, you did rape me.” I paused for a breath. “I told you to stop. You just ignored me.”

“Aw, c’mon!”

“You hurt me, Christopher. As if I wasn’t in enough pain.”

“Jesus!” He came over to me, put his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“No, it’s not okay. I’m out of here.” I shook his hand off.

He didn’t speak, but I could sense that he was close. Then he spoke in a low, menacing voice that I knew usually preceded something violent.

He said, “You have an affair, you get pregnant by some … motherfucker you’ve known for two months and run off with him. And then after a decade plus—after you refused to even have the decency to answer my calls and at least speak to me—Gabe calls me out of the blue and tells me you’re in trouble. And I stop my entire life to rescue you and nurse you back to the living. And you have the fucking nerve to bail on me because the sex got a little rough?”

“I’m not your punching bag!”

“It was just fucking sex!” he yelled.