My father grabbed my coat and dragged me halfway upright before shoving me toward the open driveway. “Get out,” he barked.
Snow had started falling and cold air hit my face as the garage door slammed behind me. I staggered to the front porch and knocked weakly while calling for my mother. The porch light turned on and she appeared behind the curtain. She saw the blood running down my face and the way my arm hung uselessly at my side.
For one long second we looked at each other through the glass, then she quietly closed the curtain and turned off the light.
The door never opened.
I walked through the snow to my car and drove to Danielle’s apartment while fighting waves of pain and shock. When she opened the door she gasped and immediately helped me inside before calling an ambulance. At the hospital doctors confirmed I had a dislocated shoulder, a broken nose, and several bruised ribs.
A nurse gently asked if someone had done this to me. At first I said I slipped because old habits die slowly, but when a police officer repeated the question something inside me finally broke and I told him the truth.