I closed the door after him and stood very still. The room felt smaller. My shawl smelled faintly of soap. The bandage pulled when I breathed. A moment ago he had called what he offered “mercy." A moment ago I had said no.
I washed my hands because I needed something simple to do. Water ran over my fingers and turned pink where the scabs had cracked. I dried them, cleaned the basin, and straightened the cups on the shelf. When there was nothing left to fix, I sat. The chair creaked. The house was quiet.
Outside, a cart passed and the wheel hit the same hole it always hit. I counted to ten, then to twenty. My heart slowed. My head cleared. I tied the shawl tighter and finished binding my back. The cloth lay flat. I could move without gasping. That was enough for the next hour.
—
Meanwhi
