CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 3
The police arrived seven minutes later.
Two officers entered the dining room and stopped at the sight of me standing beside the table with sauce on my dress, red marks along my cheek, and broken porcelain scattered around my feet.
One officer looked at Jackson.
Then at Grace.
Then at the relatives frozen around the table.
“Who threw the plate?”
No one answered.
The silence returned.
This time, it did not protect Jackson.
It accused him.
I lifted my phone.
“My husband did.”
Jackson laughed.
“My wife is emotional. She refused a reasonable family request and started yelling.”
The officer looked at me.
“Were you yelling, ma’am?”
“No.”
Grace cut in. “She provoked him.”
The second officer turned toward her.
“Ma’am, provoking someone is not permission to assault them.”
Grace’s face tightened like she had been slapped by the truth.
The paramedics arrived next. One guided me into the sitting room to examine the cut along my cheek and the swelling near my temple.
While she cleaned the injury, I heard Jackson’s voice rising in the dining room.
“She’s lying. Ask anyone.”
Then the officer did.
One by one.
Mark told the truth first.
Then his wife.
Then one cousin admitted Jackson had thrown the plate after I refused to give Grace my apartment.
After that, the rest began protecting themselves.
That was the strange thing about cowards.
They waited for one brave person to open the door, then rushed through it and called it honesty.
Grace refused to give a statement.
Robert said he “didn’t see clearly.”
But he had seen enough.
Jackson was escorted through his parents’ front door while neighbors stood under the porch lights pretending not to watch.
He turned back once.
“You ruined me.”
May you like
I held the cold pack against my cheek.
“No, Jackson. I finally stopped helping you hide.”
