My Husband Beat Me on Easter—Then Police Found the Case He’d Been Building to Make My Father Look Like the Dangerous One
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Chapter 26 / 27
Chapter 26 - Easter Again
Three years after the assault, Easter came in April.
Dad invited me for lunch.
I almost declined.
Not because of trauma.
Because he overcooks ham.
Still does.
I went.
Aunt Caroline came.
Two neighbors.
A friend from work.
No satin dress.
Jeans.
Sweater.
Sneakers.
Dad placed an Easter basket on the table.
I stared.
He froze.
“Oh.”
Then:
“I can put it away.”
I looked at it.
Pastel ribbon.
Chocolate eggs.
Cheap plastic grass.
For three years, an Easter basket had belonged to Ethan in my head.
Overturned.
Beside me.
Evidence of contrast.
Celebration and violence in the same room.
I picked up a chocolate egg.
Unwrapped it.
Ate it.
Dad watched.
“Good?”
“Cheap.”
“Tradition.”
May you like
The basket stayed.
Ordinary objects do not need to remain crime scenes forever.
