Even I had wondered whether the man beside me had done something I couldn’t remember.
And in one sense, George really had caused the mark.
His hand had left it.
But it had happened when he grabbed me at the top of the stairs, one second before I fell.
The bruise I had spent an entire day fearing was not proof that my husband had hurt me.
It was proof that, in the middle of the night, when I didn’t even know I was in danger, he had been awake enough to catch me.
