Chapter 4: Bruises and Realizations

Mom and I went back to Maple Heights first. That’s our little home with Dad. She ran a bath for me. In the steamy bathroom, I saw the angry red marks under her slightly open collar—the kind that don’t come from accidents.

The bruises looked like fingerprints against her pale skin. I bit my lip hard, the taste of soap and tears stinging my mouth.

Suddenly, it clicked. Maybe Dad’s love for her was all an act. I remembered the time Dad slammed a door so hard the windows rattled, Mom shrinking into herself. In my class, Caleb’s dad looked gentle and loving, but he abused his mom. At parent-teacher meetings, she wore big sunglasses, but the bruises were still there. It was my mom who found a lawyer friend to help her fight the case. I guess they understood each other.

Savannah wasn’t always magnolias and sunshine. Behind those old houses and polite smiles, people hid things deep. I pressed my lips together, trying not to cry. There were angry red marks on her skin, the kind that don’t come from accidents. No wonder she cried so hard at night in the bedroom. They thought I was sound asleep. But actually, no. I heard Dad say he wanted to bite her, then Mom cried even harder. But during the day, they didn’t seem to have any problems. Turns out Dad was really good at pretending. Jerk.

That night, I curled up in bed, blanket pulled to my chin, promising myself I’d never be like him. I wished for a world where love didn’t have to hurt.