Linda reached for my hospital bag near the bedroom door.
“Is this packed?”
“Mostly.”
Ryan stepped in front of her.
“Mom, stop. You’re making this worse.”
Linda looked directly into his eyes.
“I am not making anything worse. I am refusing to help you pretend it didn’t happen.”
Ryan turned to me.
“You agreed to sleep downstairs.”
“I didn’t agree.”
“You went.”
“Because I was afraid of what would happen if I refused.”
His face changed for half a second.
Then the defensiveness returned.
“I never threatened you.”
“You didn’t have to,” I said. “You made it clear that my needs didn’t matter.”
“That is not fair.”
I took out my phone and opened our messages.
Ten mornings of texts filled the screen.
You can come upstairs now.
Wait another twenty minutes.
Don’t wake me when you come in.
Take your pillow with you tonight.
