Chapter 8 - The hospital advocate
Her name was Tessa Morgan.
Thirty-eight.
Domestic-violence advocate contracted through the hospital.
She sat in the chair Graham had been using.
No clipboard at first.
That helped.
“Do you want your husband back in the room?”
“No.”
“Do you want Judith Bennett allowed in?”
“No.”
“Do you want either informed about your medical details?”
“No.”
Simple questions.
I could answer those.
Then:
“Do you feel safe going home with Graham tonight?”
I almost laughed.
“I’m being admitted.”
“After discharge.”
I looked away.
“No.”
There.
First time.
She nodded.
“Do you share the home?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have somewhere else?”
“My friend Leah.”
“Do you want to go there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay.”
No pressure.
Then:
“Has Graham ever strangled you?”
“No.”
“Threatened with a weapon?”
“No.”
“Threatened to kill you?”
“No.”
“Controlled your access to money?”
“No.”
“Monitored your phone?”
“Not exactly.”
“Prevented you from leaving rooms?”
“Yes.”
“How often?”
I hated the answer.
“More than once.”
“Physically hurt you?”
I looked at the scan.
“Yes.”
“Before today?”
“Yes.”
She did not change expression.
Good.
Then:
“Do you believe Judith has ever physically harmed you before?”
“No.”
That was also true.
Judith’s abuse had been social.
Controlling.
Intrusive.
Cruel sometimes.
But not physical until the stairs.
Tessa said:
“Different people can have different behavior patterns. You don’t have to merge them.”
That became important.
The Bennett family would later accuse me of claiming:
They are all violent.
I never did.
Judith shoved.
Graham restrained and pushed.
Charles? There was no Charles. Uncle Stephen had never touched me.
Beth helped.
Other relatives were witnesses, cowards, or simply confused.
May you like
Different verbs.
Again.
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