And he told her. “Nan was out. She had this Monday morning grocery run—she’d go to the little market and then the big market, and she was never gone less than two hours. I wasn’t living there by that time; I had my own place. This was the third time I’d tried to talk to him. The first time I really had just tried to talk, and the second time I’d threatened, but nothing had changed. Sunday night, the night before, he’d hurt her worse than I’d ever seen. He’d made her cry. Nothing made Nan cry. I don’t even remember her crying after my parents died. Maybe she did, but not where I could see.” She curled around him and stroked his hair and comforted him with her body. And he kissed her face and held her tight. Holding her was the best thing, and holding her knowing that she could still give herself to him and get what she needed in return, that was even better. “So that Monday morning I went, and I was determined to do whatever it took to make him hear me. But you have to believe me, I wasn’t thinking about cutting him.
