Oliver lowered his head. “We go away.”
Later that day, while Denise was out attending a social event, Lauren asked the boys if they could show her their favorite toys. They led her upstairs and stopped abruptly at the doorway of their bedroom, neither willing to step inside.
“Why do you not want to go in?” Lauren asked carefully.
Ryan pointed toward the closet. “That is where we stay when we are bad.”
Lauren opened the door.
The space was large and empty, with no light and no shelves. On the inside of the door, at the height of a small child, were deep scratches, dozens of them, etched into the wood with desperate force.
Lauren felt her blood run cold.
“How long do you stay in here?” she asked quietly.
Oliver began to cry. “A long time. Sometimes we forget how long.”
“And we cannot yell,” Ryan added. “She says if Dad knows, it will be worse.”
Denise Collins had arrived at her brother’s home after her marriage collapsed publicly and painfully. She lost custody of her daughter, lost her home, and lost the social standing she had built her identity around. When Matthew opened his door to her, she did not see compassion. She saw control.