She was quiet for a moment.
“Maybe if you hadn’t come home that night, I would never have told you.”
I looked at her.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
She considered the question.
“Because I thought telling you would destroy your marriage. And because they kept saying you would believe them instead of me.”
I felt a familiar ache in my chest.
“You were a child trying to protect the people who were supposed to protect you.”
She looked at me.
“I don’t want to do that anymore.”
“Then don’t. You don’t have to protect adults from the consequences of their choices.”
She nodded.
We sat together in silence until she leaned her head against my shoulder.
Outside, the streetlights came on one by one.
Inside, the kitchen was warm.
And for the first time in a very long time, the silence in our house felt peaceful.
I still drive freight routes.
