Margaret turned around.
Her face looked smaller somehow.
More fragile.
“I do.”
She sat on the bed.
“I have to tell someone before I die.”
Sophie sat beside her.
The rain continued outside.
Margaret clasped her trembling hands together.
“My husband’s name was Richard Holloway.”
Sophie nodded.
“I married him when I was twenty-one.”
Margaret looked down.
“Everyone loved him.”
“He was charming.”
“He had a good job.”
“He bought flowers for neighbors.”
“He volunteered at church.”
“He remembered birthdays.”
Margaret laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“And when the front door closed, he became someone else.”
Sophie stayed silent.
Margaret continued.
“The first time he hit me, I was twenty-three.”
“He apologized.”
“He cried.”
“He bought me a necklace.”
“I believed him.”
“The second time, he didn’t cry.”
“The third time, he blamed me.”
Margaret rubbed her thumb over her knuckle.
“After a while, I stopped counting.”
