Chapter 26 - THE STAIRS AGAIN
We sold Harrison’s old house after his financial troubles?
No.
It was his.
He eventually sold it himself.
The staircase belonged to a new family.
I never returned.
Did not need exposure therapy on location.
Stairs existed everywhere.
That was enough.
For months after the fall, I gripped railings too hard.
At seven months postpartum, I still paused at long staircases.
By year two, less.
By year five, I mostly noticed only when someone walked close behind me.
June did that constantly.
“Personal space.”
“Mom.”
“Behind me on stairs.”
“Why?”
“Because I like room.”
She accepted.
No trauma lecture every time.
One evening, Evan and I attended a school fundraiser.
A wide staircase.
June ran ahead.
I walked slowly.
Evan remained beside me.
Not behind.
He had learned without being told.
At the top I said:
“You know you can walk normally.”
“I am.”
“You’re matching me.”
“Marriage.”
“Manipulative answer.”
He smiled.
Then became serious.
“Do you still think about leaving me?”
Sometimes.
I told him.
Not because I planned divorce.
Because trust damage has echoes.
He nodded.
“Anything I should do?”
“Keep doing boring things.”
“What boring things?”
“Read what you sign.”
He laughed.
“Cruel.”
“Ask before speaking for me.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t punch relatives.”
“Five years clean.”
“Impressive.”
We entered the ballroom.
No revelation.
May you like
No old recording playing from a phone.
That chapter of our life had stopped demanding new evidence.
