Chapter 7 - Rafferty’s Childhood
Rafferty started remembering in pieces.
Not recovered-memory theatrics.
Ordinary triggers.
A basement door.
The smell of chlorine.
A dog barking behind a fence.
His father saying:
“Again.”
Dr. Bell referred him to his own therapist.
He went.
That mattered.
He did not use Callum’s sessions to process himself.
One night after Callum slept, he told me:
“I remember Dad shutting basement lights.”
“How old?”
“Seven? Eight?”
“What for?”
“I said I was scared.”
I waited.
“He said darkness wasn’t dangerous.”
“Did he lock you?”
“Maybe latch.”
“Do you remember Mom?”
“She was upstairs.”
Then:
“I remember pretending I wasn’t afraid anymore.”
My chest hurt.
“Were you?”
“No.”
There.
Ambrose’s data probably said success.
Then Rafferty said:
“I’ve used his language.”
“What?”
“With Callum.”
I felt cold.
“When?”
“Not cages.”
“I know.”
“I’ve told him ‘fear gets bigger when you feed it.’”
That phrase can be true in anxiety treatment.
Context matters.
“I told him to stop running to you every time Ranger barked.”
I stared.
He looked sick.
“Did you know your dad was doing this?”
“No.”
“Did you think he was helping?”
“Yes.”
That was his guilt.
Not secret approval.
Failure to understand his own father’s definition of help.
Then he told me about barbecue silence.
“When Callum said Dad told him I approved, I thought maybe I had.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“I thought of that conversation. ‘Nothing crazy.’ I laughed. Maybe Dad heard yes.”
“So why not say no immediately?”
“Because I wasn’t sure.”
I felt anger rise.
“You let our son stand there wondering if his father approved a cage because you were parsing a conversation?”
Rafferty flinched.
“Yes.”
I stood.
Walked into kitchen.
Not leave marriage.
Need space.
He followed only to doorway.
“Delphine.”
I turned.
“You had one job in that second.”
“I know.”
“Believe him.”
“Yes.”
“You froze.”
“Yes.”
I hated his agreement because I wanted him to fight.
He said:
“I’m sorry.”
I believed him.
Still angry.
Marriage counseling began.
Not because we were divorcing.
Because betrayal can happen through silence too.
He needed to learn that when his father’s authority entered the room, he disappeared.
May you like
I needed to stop responding to terror with hands.
Different work.
