The problem wasn’t only Ivonne. The problem wasn’t only Darnell.
The problem was the man sitting right beside her, watching her get broken and calling it normal.
Three weeks after that Sunday dinner, Nyla learned a hard truth.
Cruel words don’t disappear. They plant seeds. And when pain comes, those seeds grow fast.
That morning, Nyla stood in the bathroom with the door locked. She stared at the tissue in her hand, and her whole body went cold.
Blood.
Not a little. Not maybe-it’s-nothing.
Enough to make her knees weak.
No. Not again.
Like terror had been waiting for her.
She rushed out and found Terrence in the living room adjusting his watch like he had somewhere important to be.
“Terrence,” she said, voice shaking. “Something is wrong.”
He frowned like she was interrupting him on purpose. “What now?”
Nyla grabbed his hand and pressed it against her belly.
“I’m bleeding.”
Terrence pulled his hand back like the words disgusted him.
Then he sighed, deep and annoyed.
“So, what you want me to do?” he asked.
