Chapter 9 - Forty-One Minutes
I walked out of the courtroom without Dad.
Emily followed me.
Tyler was asking questions.
Where was Grandpa?
Why was he still inside?
What did Daddy mean?
I couldn’t answer him.
I couldn’t speak at all.
I got in the car and locked the doors.
Emily got in the passenger side.
"Sarah, wait," she said.
"You don’t know that it’s true.
Michael is a liar.
He’s manipulative.
He’s just trying to hurt you one last time before he goes to prison.
Don’t let him." I stared straight ahead.
"The first time I tried to leave Michael," I said.
"It was two years ago.
He had broken my wrist.
I packed a bag.
I got Tyler in the car.
I drove to Dad’s house.
I sat in the driveway for an hour.
And then I drove home.
Because I was scared.
Scared Michael would take Tyler.
Scared I couldn’t make it on my own.
Scared of everything." I turned to look at her.
"When Dad showed up that night… he was breathing hard.
Like he had been running.
But his car was cold.
I remember touching the hood when we left.
It was cold.
Like it had been parked for a while.
I didn’t think anything of it at the time.
I was too hurt.
Too scared.
But Michael was right.
He was there.
He was in the driveway.
He listened." I started crying.
"He let Michael hit me," I said.
"He sat in his car and he listened.
He waited until it was bad enough.
Until there was enough evidence.
Until I was broken enough that I would finally leave.
He used my pain like a tool." "Sarah—" "Get out," I said.
"What?" "Get out of the car, Emily.
Please.
I need to be alone." She hesitated.
Then she got out.
I drove away.
I didn’t know where I was going.
I just drove.
Through town.
Down the highway.
Past the house where Michael had beaten me.
Past the school where Tyler had gotten in the fight.
Past the diner where I had met Emily.
I drove until the car ran out of gas.
I ended up at the cemetery.
Where my mom was buried.
I walked to her grave.
The headstone was weathered.
Her name was faded.
I sat on the grass in front of it.
"Mom," I said.
"I don’t know what to do.
Dad let Michael hurt me.
He sat there and he listened.
He could have stopped it after the first blow.
But he didn’t.
He waited.
May you like
He wanted it to be worse so I’d have no choice but to leave.
Does that make him as bad as Michael?"
