OPHELIA
I hear a crash downstairs from my husband knocking something over in a fit of anger. I freeze. I’m hovering over my daughter’s bed, having just soothed her back to sleep after another early-morning nightmare. The sound of Toby’s rage makes me want to hide under it instead.
The storm’s messing with the satellite reception for some reason, and that has Toby pissed off again. I can hear him pacing from room to room, his breath huffing, while I hold still in Molly’s room and fearfully listen for his footsteps on the stairs. Once he comes up to me, I know what’s going to happen.
Not in front of Molly. He won’t dare.
But Toby makes excuses, and he escalates. Slowly, slowly, over years—each time coming out of it full of apologizes and promises to be better. Promises that always prove
