By the time I was cleared to leave the hospital, I had made my own decision too.
I told Ryan I would not return to the Whitmore house as though nothing had happened.
The baby and I were going somewhere Margaret had never controlled.
If Ryan wanted to come with us, there would be counseling, boundaries, complete honesty, and no more translating cruelty into concern.
He didn’t argue.
He packed a bag.
That choice did not repair our marriage overnight.
It simply gave it a chance to become something different from the marriage we had before Room 508.
In the immediate aftermath, I cared less about Margaret’s humiliation than I expected.
I cared about ordinary things.
A locked door.
My phone beside me.
My baby sleeping against my chest.
The ability to close my eyes without wondering who would walk into the room and tell me I was imagining what I could plainly see.
