Chapter 8 - MOM’S PART
Mom knew Lauren had been shoved.
She did not know about the portal.
That distinction became her defense.
Not legally.
Emotionally.
“I went over Wednesday,” she said in my kitchen three days after delivery.
“You saw the bruise?”
“Yes.”
“You knew her stomach hurt?”
“She said she was sore.”
“She was thirty-two weeks pregnant.”
“I told Brent to leave.”
“And then?”
“He apologized.”
“To you?”
“To Lauren.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Mom started crying.
“He said he grabbed her because she was trying to drive while hysterical.”
Lauren had not been trying to drive.
“He told you she was hysterical.”
“Yes.”
“You believed him?”
“I believed both of them were upset.”
There.
The family disease.
Both sides.
When one person shoves and the other cries, calling both upset makes neutrality look sophisticated.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“Lauren begged me not to.”
“Why not Daniel?”
“She said he would send her to the hospital.”
I stared.
“That would have been the correct thing.”
“We didn’t know that.”
“Daniel is an obstetrician.”
“And her brother-in-law. She didn’t want everyone knowing.”
Mom lowered her voice.
“Brent said if Daniel got involved, it would become a whole thing.”
My jaw tightened.
“It became emergency surgery.”
She covered her mouth.
I regretted the cruelty.
Not the truth.
Mom had spent her life preventing family scenes.
My father drank heavily during our childhood.
Never violent.
Unpredictable.
Mom built peace by smoothing.
May you like
Lauren inherited silence.
I inherited irritation at silence without recognizing how often I participated.
