I had simply been the last person to know.
We took photographs of the documents and left the originals in a safe place.
Rebecca encouraged me not to confront Michael alone. I agreed.
But I still had one question that would not leave my mind.
Why had he made me repeat that sentence every night?
Why had he needed me to say, “It’s not my fault. Tomorrow will be better”?
I remembered how he watched my face while I spoke.
How he sometimes made me repeat the words until I was crying.
How he became angry whenever I refused.
The ritual had never brought him comfort.
It had reminded me who held the power in our marriage.
He had made me participate in my own humiliation, night after night, until obedience felt like love.
That realization hurt more than the laboratory report.
Because the report revealed a secret.
The ritual revealed what he had done with that secret.
