Chapter 4 - RICHARD
Richard Miller returned from Boston the next afternoon.
He had been at a cardiology conference.
Seventy years old.
Still practicing part-time.
Still intimidating in the way older surgeons sometimes become intimidating without raising their voices.
He walked directly into the police station.
Not Claire’s house.
He gave a statement.
Then visited Abigail at the hospital.
Claire watched him enter.
He crossed to the bed.
Took Abigail’s hand.
Then stopped.
“Can I?”
Abigail nodded.
He kissed her forehead.
Claire noticed the question.
Can I?
Something Christopher had not asked before grabbing Abigail’s hair.
Richard turned toward Claire.
“I’m sorry.”
Claire stared.
“For what?”
“For hiding our marriage.”
“And the pregnancy.”
“Yes.”
“And for raising a son who thinks violence is a legitimate response to information he hates?”
Richard went still.
That landed.
“I did not teach him to hit women.”
Claire’s expression hardened.
“Did you teach him what to do with rage?”
Silence.
Richard sat.
Christopher had grown up in a house where anger looked different.
Richard did not yell.
He withdrew.
Helen cried.
Then dinner happened.
Conflicts vanished without resolution.
Christopher learned:
strong men do not explain themselves.
They leave.
Then, when he became an adult, his anger did not disappear.
It simply lacked language.
Richard looked at Abigail’s bruised shoulder.
“I failed there.”
Claire did not reassure him.
Good.
Then she asked:
“Why hide the marriage?”
Richard looked at Abigail.
She nodded.
He answered:
“Because we thought you two would make it about yourselves.”
Claire almost laughed.
“You were right.”
Then:
“And hiding it made that worse.”
May you like
Richard nodded.
“Yes.”
