“No.”
The word came automatically.
Officer Ramirez waited.
Megan stared at me.
I looked toward the window.
“Not like today.”
That was different.
“What has happened before?”
I wanted to say nothing.
I wanted to defend him.
It was almost instinct.
“He’s grabbed my wrist.”
“How often?”
“A few times.”
“Has he ever blocked you from leaving a room?”
My mouth went dry.
“Yes.”
“Taken your phone?”
“Yes.”
“Destroyed property?”
“He punched a hole in the laundry-room door last year.”
Megan turned sharply toward me.
“You told me you dropped a shelf.”
“I know.”
I couldn’t look at her.
Officer Ramirez’s voice remained calm.
“Has he ever threatened you?”
“Not directly.”
“What does indirectly mean?”
I thought about it.
“He says things.”
“What kind of things?”
I hated hearing myself answer.
“That if I ever tried to take the baby from him, he’d make sure everyone knew I was unstable.”
The room went quiet.
Megan sat down.
Officer Ramirez wrote something.
“Has a doctor ever diagnosed you as unstable?”
“No.”
“Any condition that prevents you from caring for yourself?”
“No.”
“Any psychiatric hospitalization?”
“No.”
“I have anxiety sometimes.”
“So do millions of people.”
I looked at her.
She wasn’t dismissing anxiety.
She was separating it from the weapon Eric had made it into.
For years, if I cried during an argument, Eric called me unstable.
If I got overwhelmed, unstable.
If I asked him to stop yelling, I was “having one of my episodes.”
The word had become so normal inside our house that I no longer heard how ugly it sounded.
Officer Ramirez asked whether I wanted information about a protective order.
My first reaction was panic.
“That seems extreme.”
Megan made a sound beside me.
I snapped, “Please don’t.”
She held up both hands.
Officer Ramirez didn’t push.
She left information with me.
Then she said, “You don’t have to decide the rest of your life today. But the hospital can flag your chart so he cannot enter without your permission.”
I looked at the fetal monitor.
“Yes.”
The word was barely audible.
“Please do that.”
That was the first boundary.
Small.
Temporary.
But mine.
Eric arrived at the hospital anyway.
He must have figured out where I was from the ambulance company or by calling around.
I never learned exactly how.
Hospital security stopped him before he reached my floor.
He called Megan seventeen times.
Then he began texting.
At first:
PLEASE LET ME SEE HER.
I NEED TO KNOW THE BABY IS OKAY.
Then:
THIS HAS GOTTEN OUT OF CONTROL.
Then:
YOUR DAD IS TRYING TO DESTROY OUR MARRIAGE.
And finally:
