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My father sat beside her.
“But he came every single day,” my mother said. “Every day. Whenever I told him to leave, he would say, ‘I’m going to marry you, not your arms.’”
My eyes filled with tears.
But I still had one question.
“Then why do you sometimes get scared when he suddenly reaches toward you?”
My mother gave me a sad smile.
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“After the fire, sudden movements and loud sounds frightened me for a long time. Sometimes my body still reacts before my mind remembers that I’m safe.”
“And why did you always look at Dad whenever someone asked about your arms?”
This time, my father answered.
“Because we had an agreement. If your mother didn’t want to answer, I would change the subject.”
That was when I understood how badly I had misread everything I had seen.
