Chapter 2 - The Woman in the Rain
Susan Reynolds came outside wearing slippers.
Her husband Mark followed.
Susan did not ask whether I had permission to be there.
She did not ask what I had done to make Andrew angry.
She saw a woman crawling through freezing rain with a leg bent wrong.
That was enough.
“Don’t move,” she said.
“I have to get away from him.”
“You are away.”
Andrew crossed the lawn.
“Rebecca, stop this.”
Mark stepped between us.
Andrew held up both hands.
“She fell.”
Susan looked down at me.
“Did you fall?”
“No.”
Andrew snapped:
“She’s confused.”
“She is answering.”
“She’s my wife.”
Mark’s expression changed.
“That doesn’t give you ownership.”
Andrew moved another step.
Mark blocked him.
“Back up.”
“Stay out of my marriage.”
“Back up.”
Sirens grew louder.
I shook so hard my teeth clicked.
Susan ran inside and returned with blanket.
She covered my shoulders but did not move leg.
“Ambulance is coming.”
“My baby.”
She froze.
“You’re pregnant?”
I nodded.
Nearly twenty four weeks.
Current pregnancy had been unexpected.
After the miscarriage, Andrew and I had separated emotionally for weeks.
Then he apologized.
Counseling.
Promises.
One night we tried again.
Three weeks later I found out I was pregnant.
I had wanted child.
I had also still wanted divorce.
Those truths could exist together.
Now I pressed my hand against stomach.
The baby moved.
Thank God.
Police arrived.
Andrew began immediately.
“She slipped in kitchen.”
Officer looked at me.
“Ma’am, is that true?”
“No.”
“Who hurt you?”
“My mother in law.”
“With what?”
“Rolling pin.”
“Where?”
“Kitchen.”
“Where is she?”
“In house.”
Then:
“Did husband hurt you?”
I looked at Andrew.
His face hardened.
“He wouldn’t let me call ambulance.”
Officer’s eyes shifted.
“He dragged me away from door.”
Andrew shouted:
“That’s not what happened.”
The officer raised hand.
“Sir, stop.”
Then paramedics.
They cut fabric away.
One said:
“We need stabilize.”
I gripped Susan’s hand.
She squeezed.
Andrew tried approaching stretcher.
Officer stopped.
“She needs me.”
I said:
“No.”
The word felt enormous.
The paramedic looked at me.
“You do not want him riding?”
“No.”
Andrew stared.
I could see betrayal in his face.
As if after everything, I was the one abandoning rules.
Then ambulance doors closed.
For twelve minutes, I belonged to nobody except myself and strangers trying to keep me alive.
At emergency room, pain blurred everything.
Bright lights.
Questions.
Medication.
A nurse asked:
“Can I remove your jacket?”
“Yes.”
Permission again.
The jacket.
Backup phone.
I remembered.
“Pocket.”
“What?”
“There’s a phone in inside pocket.”
The nurse carefully found it.
“Do you want me to put it in belongings bag?”
“No. Keep near.”
Then physician came.
Dr. Daniel Mercer.
Forties.
Calm.
He looked at leg.
“Rebecca, I’m going to ask several questions.”
“Okay.”
“Who hit you?”
“Margaret Whitmore.”
“Relationship?”
“My husband’s mother.”
“How many times?”
“Three.”
“With rolling pin?”
“Yes.”
“Did husband witness?”
“After.”
“Did he seek medical help?”
“No.”
“Did he prevent you?”
“Yes.”
The doctor’s face remained professional.
Then:
“Any abdominal impact?”
“No.”
“Any vaginal bleeding?”
“No.”
“Cramping?”
“No.”
“Baby movement?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
They called obstetrics for monitoring.
Then X ray.
My leg throbbed beneath immobilizer.
Outside hallway, shouting began.
Andrew.
“She is my wife.”
Hospital security answered:
“She declined visitors.”
“She’s hysterical.”
Then Margaret.
“That woman attacked me.”
I almost laughed.
Dr. Mercer looked toward door.
“Do you want either of them here?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
He wrote something.
Then X ray returned.
He studied screen.
Called another physician.
Zoomed.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“Rebecca, have you fractured your left leg before?”
“No.”
“Any serious injuries?”
“I sprained ankle.”
“When?”
“Last year.”
“Imaging?”
“No.”
He pointed.
“This is current fracture.”
Then lower.
“This area is old.”
I stared.
“Old what?”
“A healed fracture.”
My mouth went dry.
Then he pointed higher.
“And another area here suggests a second healed fracture.”
I stopped breathing.
“That’s impossible.”
“It may have been diagnosed as sprain if no imaging.”
Then memories came.
Garage.
Andrew.
Push.
My ankle folding.
Another.
Bedroom door.
His anger.
Door edge hitting shin.
Weeks of pain.
No doctor either time.
Dr. Mercer asked quietly:
“Did anything happen before those injuries?”
I closed eyes.
“Yes.”
Then security entered.
“Doctor, husband is refusing to leave lobby.”
At exactly that moment, I reached for backup phone.
The screen still worked.
Recording icon.
I had started audio before dinner because I was already afraid.
It had captured everything.
I pressed play.
Margaret’s voice:
“You do not disrespect your elders in this house.”
My scream.
A strike.
Another.
Then crack.
Then Andrew:
“Tomorrow we tell them you tripped down stairs.”
Silence filled room.
Then his voice again:
“She quits her job and stays home.”
Margaret:
“Exactly.”
Andrew:
“That way we finally keep a tight leash on her.”
Dr. Mercer’s jaw tightened.
Security officer looked toward hallway.
I stopped recording.
Then Dr. Mercer turned back to X ray.
“Rebecca.”
“Yes?”
“This isn’t first serious injury to this leg.”
I looked at screen.
May you like
For years Andrew had told me I was clumsy.
My bones disagreed.
