“Amanda,” she started and then took a deep breath. “You know how you’ve been saying that something isn’t right, but you can’t put your finger on what it is?”
I was so exhausted, all I could do was nod and stare straight ahead through the windshield of the SUV, into the dimly lit garage.
The voice coming from the passenger seat belonged to one of my dearest friends, who had saved my butt by stepping into my caregiving role for a week while I traveled for a work retreat. I’d been parked in the dark for twenty minutes, trying to center myself before walking back into my life, when she had opened the garage door and suspiciously slipped into the car beside me.
“Well, I think I saw it this week…” She swallowed hard. “But I’m not sure you want to…” Her voice trailed off and I knew she awaited my permission to continue.
While we sat in silence, I listened to the war inside me.
Thank God! I’m not crazy! Someone else can feel it, too! Relief washed over my body like a comforting blanket.
But then fear ripped the warm blanket off, gripped my throat, and pounded in my chest.
OMG, I don’t think I want to see it! I know it’s bad. Why would I have stayed blind to it for so long if it wasn’t awful?
“I’m not sure I do either…” I paused. She waited. I gulped. “Okay, ready or not…”
“Amanda, your family is living with abuse…”
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