Her Silent Cry

Thirty-Six

He didn’t kill her. But he hurt her worse than he ever had before. For a long time, she lay on the bed, while I sat on the floor, praying for her to move. I licked my fingers and used them to try to get some of the blood off her face, but it was thick and flaky. It smeared and got into her hair and onto the pillow. We only had one pillowcase and he hardly ever let her wash it. I knew she would be mad if I got it dirty, so I stopped trying to clean her. It felt like my whole life before she talked to me again.

One of her hands reached out. I took it. “Are you going to wake up now?”

She nodded weakly.

“Can we go home?”

“Not yet.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

Her eyelids fluttered. “No, of course not. This isn’t your fault. I need you to remember that. None of this is your fault.” Her hand squeezed mine. “I need to rest now, okay?”

I nodded, even though her eyes were already closed again. Her nose whistled as she slept. When she went limp, her grip loosened, and I took my hand back. I went back to the windowsill and stared outside. The silver woman was back in her garden again. Maybe she could take us home. I raised my hand to tap the window, but I couldn’t do it.

I looked back at her bloodied face and swollen eyes. I heard her voice even though she didn’t speak. You must be as quiet as you can.

I didn’t want to be the reason she got hurt again.