Chapter 12 - Rafferty and Me
Our marriage nearly broke over three seconds.
Not the years of Ambrose’s behavior.
Rafferty’s silence.
I could understand trauma freeze intellectually.
Emotionally?
I had watched Callum look at his father and ask:
Did you approve?
And Rafferty did not answer.
In counseling, I said:
“I needed you to say no.”
“I know.”
“Not five minutes later.”
“I know.”
“Immediately.”
“Yes.”
His agreement made me angrier.
The therapist, Dr. Marcus Reed, asked:
“Rafferty, what happened internally?”
He took time.
“I saw the kennel.”
Then:
“I heard Dad say I had approved.”
“He hadn't said that yet,” I corrected.
“Callum said Grandpa told him.”
“Right.”
Rafferty nodded.
“I remembered telling Dad Callum needed help with fear.”
Then:
“I thought maybe this was my fault.”
“And?”
“I couldn’t say no because I was trying to calculate whether I had accidentally said yes.”
My eyes filled.
Dr. Reed asked:
“What did Callum need?”
“My answer.”
“Which was?”
“No.”
There.
Then:
“What will you do next time you don’t know whether an adult crossed an agreed boundary?”
Rafferty:
“Protect first. Clarify second.”
Good.
Then me.
“What happens next time you see someone hurt Callum?”
I said:
“I get him safe.”
“And?”
“Call police if needed.”
“And?”
“No hitting once safety is established.”
Good.
We were not opposites.
We both had reflexes inherited from fear.
Mine:
Attack.
His:
May you like
Freeze.
Callum needed parents who could notice both.
