Chapter 3 - The Bathroom
Her name was Denise Alvarez.
Hospital social worker.
Soft voice.
No clipboard pressed dramatically against her chest.
No judgment.
She asked:
“Where would you feel safest tonight?”
I almost said home automatically.
Then pictured Judith standing behind me.
Graham saying:
Say you slipped.
“My sister’s.”
“Can you contact her?”
“Yes.”
My sister Caroline lived forty minutes away.
We had become distant.
Not estranged.
Just gradually less close.
Graham called her intrusive.
Judith called her disrespectful.
I started inviting her over less.
It felt easier.
I called.
Caroline answered almost immediately.
“Nora?”
“I’m at the hospital.”
She did not ask twenty questions.
“I’m coming.”
Afterward, Denise asked about the old bathroom injury.
I remembered the argument.
Judith had been staying with us after a minor procedure.
She disliked being treated like a guest.
I said:
“You are a guest.”
She stepped closer.
I turned toward the sink.
Then I was on the floor.
My shoulder against the vanity.
Chest aching.
At the time I believed my sock slipped on damp tile.
Or maybe that was what everyone eventually agreed had happened.
“Do you remember anyone touching you?”
“I don’t know.”
Not no.
I don’t know.
The garage fall was clearer.
Judith and I argued about a spare house key.
I had asked Graham not to give her one.
He did anyway.
I confronted her.
She moved past me.
My wrist ended up beneath my body.
I remembered saying:
“You pushed me.”
Judith answered:
“I brushed you.”
Then Graham helped me up.
Later, at urgent care, he squeezed my hand and said:
“Just say you slipped carrying the groceries. We don’t need another fight.”
May you like
I had.
I said I slipped.
