Chapter 3 - The Hospital
I went to the hospital.
Dad wanted to ride with me.
Police needed him for a statement first.
So Officer Grant arranged for another officer to accompany me until my aunt Caroline arrived.
My injuries were painful.
Not catastrophic.
A bruised cheek.
Shoulder contusion.
Several arm bruises.
A sprained wrist.
One cracked rib.
No internal bleeding.
No brain injury.
No surgery.
The forensic nurse asked whether I wanted photographs.
I said yes.
That decision felt enormous.
For months I had spent energy preventing exactly that.
Evidence.
Records.
Dates.
Things another person could compare.
Now someone photographed every visible bruise.
Measured them.
Wrote down where they were.
No exaggeration.
No labels like:
horrific.
Just description.
Then she asked:
“Has your husband hurt you before?”
“Yes.”
“How many times?”
I tried to answer.
Could not.
“More than five?”
“Yes.”
“More than ten?”
I started crying.
She stopped counting.
“Okay.”
The room became quiet.
Eventually she asked:
“Why didn’t you report?”
I thought of the live camera showing Dad’s house.
Then said:
“Because he said my father was dangerous.”
The nurse waited.
May you like
“And I was afraid if I told Dad, Ethan would make something happen between them.”
That was closer to the truth than anything I had said before.
