WHEN I WOKE up, it was dark outside. The nightstand clock told me it was 12:03. My head hurt and I was parched. I was also probably hungry, but since I was on a liquid diet, hunger pangs didn’t register. I waited for my eyes to adjust, and when they did, mercifully, I saw the door was closed. I wasn’t sure if he was out there, but I was glad for the privacy. I turned on the lamp.

My dresses were back hanging in the closet; my foldable clothes were gone, probably back in the drawers. His leather valise was also gone, as were the dress and underwear that I had thrown across the room. A box of sanitary napkins was waiting on my nightstand along with a bottle of water.

The clean-up gremlins had come and gone and I hadn’t heard a thing. I made my way to the bathroom with my napkins with wings and a fresh pair of panties. I had stopped bleeding but was still crampy. I hunted around the medicine cabinet and came out with a bottle of Advil and gulped down two tablets. Then I drained the water.

I could hide for only so long. And he had a point. He had called me numerous times during my absence. He had also written me emails and texts.

Just talk to me.

I had put up a wall of silence, ghosting, as they call it today. I was scared, to be sure, and was sitting on years of anger, but I also was ashamed. Acting the bad boy was his domain. I was the good girl. I was very uncomfortable in the role reversal. He was a brutal, cruel man. But he’d been the only one who bothered to help me when I really, really needed help. It was time to put on big-girl pants. I had a daughter to think about, and she needed to be protected.

Opening the door as quietly as I could, I took a step out into the abyss and just observed. He was wearing a long-sleeved black T-shirt and black sweats, sitting in his captain’s chair, wearing headphones that pushed back his blond-and-white shoulder-length hair. He stared at his multitude of screens. While he checked out the images, he picked up a dumbbell and curled what seemed to be an enormous amount of weight—first in the left hand, then in the right—eyes always focused on the monitors. Every so often, he spoke into a mike attached to his shirt. I watched him for some time, until he got up to stretch and finally noticed me.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey.” He took off his headphones. “How do you feel?”

“Better, thanks.”

“Good to hear.” Silence. “Do you need anything?”

“No … no, thanks. I was just getting some water from the fridge.”

“I’ll get it for you.”

“No, I’ll get it. It’s good for me to walk.”