PART 12
The harder part came after court.
Justice did not magically fix our home.
Maya became afraid of hot water.
For months, she cried when Danielle filled the bathtub.
We changed the routine.
Cool water.
A thermometer.
Maya controlled the faucet.
No one rushed her.
Slowly, bath time stopped being terrifying.
Danielle started therapy.
So did I.
Separately.
Then together.
The first couples session was brutal.
The therapist asked Danielle what she needed from me.
Danielle answered immediately.
“I need Marcus to understand that his mother didn’t fool him because she was brilliant.”
“He let himself be fooled because believing her was convenient.”
I wanted to defend myself.
Then I stopped.
She was right.
The therapist looked at me.
“What comes up hearing that?”
“Shame.”
“And?”
“Anger.”
“At Danielle?”
“No.”
“At myself.”
The therapist nodded.
“What do you want to do with that anger?”
“Make sure I never repeat it.”
That became the work.
Not apologizing every morning.
Not buying gifts.
Not asking Danielle to reassure me I was still a good husband.
Listening.
Believing.
Not interrupting.
Not solving.
Not explaining.
Sometimes she was angry.
I let her be angry.
Sometimes she cried.
I did not make her comfort me afterward.
Sometimes she told me memories I hated hearing.
I listened anyway.
Maya also saw a child therapist.
One afternoon, the therapist asked her to draw our family.
She drew herself.
Danielle.
Me.
And a large yellow sun.
No Loretta.
The therapist asked what the sun meant.
Maya said.
“That’s when Daddy came home.”
I had to leave the room for a minute.
Not because it made me proud.
Because I knew I had almost come home too late.
