Chapter 6 - THE STAIRCASE
I had fallen twice in four years.
The shoulder injury.
And another fall eighteen months earlier.
Back stairs.
Bruised ribs.
At the time Garrick said I tripped over a runner.
Maybe I did.
I remembered arguing.
I remembered him behind me.
I remembered fear.
Not a push.
Not clearly.
Memory under stress is unreliable.
Arthur warned me not to fill gaps.
Good.
Truth did not need imagination.
So we looked at what existed.
Medical reports.
Texts.
House maintenance records.
A security-camera system that Miriam claimed had been “offline” both times.
Interesting.
Then Owen found service logs.
The cameras had not been offline.
Recordings were manually deleted.
User account:
Garrick.
My chest tightened.
He said:
“I delete old footage all the time.”
“Only on dates I got hurt?”
Silence.
Then Miriam snapped:
“This is disgusting. You are turning every family incident into a conspiracy.”
Maybe.
That was possible.
So we kept separating facts from fear.
Fact:
Garrick deleted footage.
Fact:
I was injured.
Fact:
We had argued.
Unknown:
Whether either fall was intentional.
Important distinction.
Then my mother asked:
“Why was Sienna serving dinner with a broken shoulder?”
Miriam glared.
“Tradition.”
Victoria laughed.
“Abuse loves tradition when tradition means someone else does the hurting.”
Miriam’s face flushed.
Then Garrick moved toward my mother.
Arthur lifted his cane slightly.
Not striking.
Warning.
Garrick stopped.
Good.
Then Arthur said:
“Sienna is leaving tonight.”
Garrick looked at me.
“No.”
The old reflex.
Control.
I stepped beside my mother.
“Yes.”
“You’re not taking marital property.”
“I’m taking clothes and medication.”
“You’re not leaving this house to your mother’s manipulation.”
I looked around the room.
Food on my dress.
Bruise on my face.
Sling.
Documents.
Then:
“You still think I need permission.”
He stared.
And I realized that was the deepest thing wrong with our marriage.
Not the money.
Not even the violence.
Permission.
He believed my autonomy was negotiable.
Then the front entry opened again.
This time it was a locksmith.
Victoria had called him before dinner.
She already knew I might need somewhere safe.
Not rescue.
May you like
Preparation.
And that was when I learned my mother had been planning my exit while I was still planning how not to upset anyone.
