Chapter 5 - Seven Years of Silence
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Three hours later, the door to Room 302 swung open.
Rebecca looked older than the last time I had seen her. Threads of silver ran through her dark, wavy hair, and soft lines framed her eyes. She was wearing an oversized blue cardigan and carrying a worn leather tote bag I recognized from our college days.
She didn't run across the room or scream. She walked in slowly, her eyes sweeping over the heavy bandages, the IV poles, and the red, raw skin on my jaw.
“Can I touch you?” she asked quietly.
“Yes,” I squeaked out.
She reached out and took my uninjured left hand between both of hers. Her skin was warm and smelled of lavender soap—the exact same soap our mother used to buy.
“You came,” I wept.
“I never left, Caroline,” Rebecca said, sitting down in the chair beside my bed. “Luke told you I stopped calling, didn't he?”
“He said you got tired of my drama. He said you told him I made my choice when I married him.”
Rebecca closed her eyes, letting out a long, shuddering breath. When she opened them, her eyes were blazing with a quiet, fierce rage.
“I called your old phone number every single week for a year until it was reassigned,” Rebecca said. “I sent birthday cards. I sent Christmas gifts. I drove to your house three times, Caroline. The first time, Luke stood on the porch and told me you were resting and didn't want to see me. The second time, he threatened to call the police for trespassing. The third time, the locks had been changed and the blinds were drawn.”
“I was inside,” I whispered, memory surfacing like a dark shadow. “He told me the noise outside was door-to-door salesmen.”
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“I knew he was isolating you,” Rebecca said, unzipping her heavy leather bag. “I knew the moment he insisted on taking over your finances before the wedding. But I couldn't force my way through his door without driving him to hurt you worse. So I waited. And I documented everything.”
She pulled a thick, cream-colored accordion folder from her bag and set it gently on my lap.
