“What did you do?”
His voice was barely a whisper.
I looked at him through the dirt covering my shoulders.
And for the first time in days…
I saw fear.
Not concern.
Not guilt.
Fear.
Because he finally understood that I hadn’t been silent because I was broken.
I had been silent because I was waiting.
His hand moved toward the freezer bag.
But before he could grab it, I pushed my buried finger against the phone screen again.
The dispatcher spoke louder.
“Sir, step away from her immediately.”
My husband froze.
He looked around the yard.
Toward the porch.
Toward his mother.
Toward Mara.
All three of them suddenly looked like strangers.
Funny how quickly people change when they realize someone else has been listening.
His mother stepped outside.
“What is going on?”
He didn’t answer.
He just stared at me.
“Who did you call?”
I almost laughed.
