She moved to the bed and helped me settle carefully, supporting my shoulders exactly as the hospital nurse had shown. Her hands were steady, but her breathing wasn’t. I recognized that sound. She was furious.
“Mara,” she said softly, “did he pull the blanket off you?”
I looked at Colin.
His eyes warned me.
For once, I ignored them.
“Yes.”
Mom closed her eyes for a brief second.
Then she pulled out her phone.
Colin stepped forward. “What are you doing?”
“Calling Dr. Whitman’s office first. Then, depending on what my daughter tells me next, possibly the police.”
“The police?” he snapped. “For a blanket?”
“For endangering a recovering surgical patient,” she said. “For intimidation. For whatever else she’s been too ashamed to tell me.”
That word broke something in me.
Ashamed.
I had been ashamed. Not of Colin, somehow, but of myself. Ashamed that I had married a man who treated tenderness like weakness. Ashamed that I had hidden the worst parts because I didn’t want my mother to worry.
Ashley appeared in the doorway, a toddler on her hip.
“What’s going on?”
Mom turned to her. “Your brother tried to pull my daughter out of bed the day after spine surgery so she could cook for you.”
Ashley’s mouth dropped open.
Colin snapped, “That’s not what happened.”
I whispered, “It is.”
The room went silent.
Ashley looked at the robe, the scattered medicine, my face, then the bandage along my back.
Her expression shifted from confusion to disgust.
“Colin,” she said, “we brought food.”
He blinked. “What?”
“We brought casseroles and soup. I texted you this morning and said we were coming to help.”
I stared at him.
Colin looked away.
Ashley’s voice trembled. “You told me Mara insisted on hosting. You said she wanted everyone here because she was bored.”
My mother’s jaw tightened.
“That lie could have put her back in the hospital.”
Colin lifted his hands. “Everyone just calm down.”
Mom pointed toward the hallway. “No. You calm down somewhere else.”
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