Chapter 3 - THE TIES THAT BURN
Mark’s apology hung in the air, toxic and heavy.
“Sorry for what?” I demanded, grabbing his wrists. “Mark, what did she do to you? Did she do this to you when you were a baby?”
Eleanor was already being ushered away by Officer Vance. She didn't scream or fight. She just kept her eyes locked on Mark until she rounded the corner, a silent demand for his loyalty.
Detective Reynolds stayed behind. He looked at Mark with a patience that made my stomach churn. “Mr. Davis, if there’s a history of abuse in the household, it’s going to come out. Child Protective Services is already involved. You need to be honest with your wife.”
Mark slumped against the pale hospital wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the linoleum floor. He buried his face in his hands.
“I was seven,” Mark said, his voice muffled. “I had a terrible rash. Poison oak, they thought. It wouldn't go away. Mom... she read about an old country remedy. Hot oil and salt. She said it had to be hot enough to burn the sickness out.”
I felt the blood roaring in my ears. “You told me it was a lantern. You told me it was an accident.”
“I believed it was an accident for a long time!” Mark looked up, his eyes bloodshot. “She cried for days afterward. She took care of me. She convinced me that the pot slipped, that she was just trying to apply it warmly. It wasn't until I was a teenager that I realized she had held me down.”
“And you left her alone with our son?” My voice was a vicious, serrated whisper.
“She was in therapy, Elena! After my dad died, she promised she’d gotten past her compulsions. She promised she would never, ever cross that line again. I thought she was just an overbearing grandmother. I didn't think she would hurt Leo.”
A nurse interrupted us, her face grave. “Elena? The doctor needs you. Leo is stabilized, but we are transferring him to the pediatric burn unit downtown.”
I didn't look back at Mark as I followed the nurse. My marriage felt like a house of cards that had just caught fire.
In the burn unit, Leo looked impossibly small. He was wrapped in specialized bandages, hooked up to monitors that beeped in a steady, agonizing rhythm. I sat by his crib for hours, singing softly, promising him that no one would ever hurt him again.
Around midnight, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Mark.
Aunt Martha bailed her out. I’m at the house. I told Mom she can’t come here. I’m so sorry.
Bailed out. Already. Eleanor’s brother was a prominent retired judge, and the family had always used his influence to sweep their ugliness under the rug. I felt a cold surge of pure maternal fury. They were going to try to make this go away.
I needed a fresh shirt. The one I was wearing still smelled of oil. I reached into the heavy canvas diaper bag I had dragged from the house. As I rummaged past the spare onesies and pacifiers, my hand brushed against something hard and unfamiliar.
I pulled it out.
It was a small, leather-bound journal. The leather was cracked and ancient, tied shut with a brittle black ribbon. It wasn't mine. Eleanor must have slipped it into the bag before I grabbed it, back in the kitchen.
I untied the ribbon. The pages were thick, filled with Eleanor’s precise, sloping handwriting.
The first page wasn't a diary entry. It was a list of names.
Mark.
Thomas.
Eliza.
I stared at the page. Mark was my husband. I had no idea who Thomas or Eliza were.
I turned the page. The date at the top was thirty years ago.
“The impurities run deep in Mark. The heat is the only way to purify the blood. He cried, but the rot must be burned away. It worked for Thomas. Even if Thomas couldn't bear it.”
My breath hitched. Thomas. Mark had always told me he was an only child.
Who was Thomas?
Before I could process the horror of the words, the heavy wooden door of the hospital room creaked open. I slammed the journal shut and shoved it under my chair.
May you like
It was Aunt Martha. She stood in the doorway, clutching her expensive leather handbag, her expression a mix of pity and cold calculation.
“Elena, dear,” she said smoothly, stepping into the room. “We need to talk about the police report. Before this family gets torn apart over a simple misunderstanding.”
