“So you came down here?”
I didn’t answer.
Her expression changed.
“Did Ryan tell you to sleep in the car?”
The kindness in her voice broke whatever strength I had left.
I began crying.
Not quietly.
Not gracefully.
I cried with my whole body, covering my face while ten nights of fear, shame, pain, and loneliness poured out of me.
I told her everything.
The keys thrown onto the bed.
The nightly walk down three flights of stairs.
The messages at 6:30.
The gas station bathroom.
The way Ryan acted as though I should be grateful he allowed me back upstairs every morning.
Linda listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she sat beside me in the open doorway.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she whispered, “Oh my God.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I can’t believe I raised a son who would do this.”
She looked toward the building.
