Chapter 4 - THE FIRST TIME JISO REFUSED TO GO HOME
Jiso requested a temporary protective order.
She hated doing it.
That surprised Robert.
He had expected relief.
Instead she sat in the courthouse hallway staring at the application as though every sentence erased part of the life she thought she had.
Dana sat beside her.
“You can stop if you need to.”
Jiso shook her head.
“No.”
She described the recent assault.
Prior incidents.
Door blocking.
Objects thrown.
Threats.
The routine of sending Ethan away.
She did not exaggerate.
She did not minimize.
Both felt unnatural.
For years she had been translating Phillip into softer language.
He grabbed me became we argued.
He punched the wall became he got frustrated.
He told Ethan to leave before hitting me became we tried not to fight in front of our son.
Now the plain language looked brutal on paper.
Temporary restrictions were issued pending further proceedings.
Phillip would not be allowed to come to Robert’s house.
Parenting arrangements would be addressed through the appropriate process.
Nothing was final.
But Jiso would not be returning home that night.
Or the next.
Phillip’s reaction came through his attorney.
Then through his sister, Melanie.
Jiso had always liked Melanie.
She was forty-two, lived outside Charlotte, and rarely involved herself in Phillip’s marriage.
Her message was brief.
Can I call you?
Jiso asked Dana first.
Then agreed.
Melanie’s voice sounded strained.
“I heard what happened.”
“From Phillip?”
“Yes.”
“What did he tell you?”
“That your dad assaulted him after you two had a fight.”
Jiso closed her eyes.
“He hit me three times before Dad touched him.”
Melanie went silent.
Then:
“Was Ethan outside?”
Jiso froze.
“How did you know that?”
Nothing.
“Melanie?”
Her sister-in-law began crying.
Jiso sat straighter.
“How did you know?”
Melanie whispered, “Because Dad used to make us go outside.”
Jiso did not understand immediately.
“Your father?”
“Yes.”
Phillip had told Jiso his father was “difficult.”
Angry.
A drinker.
He died six years before Jiso and Phillip married.
Phillip almost never discussed him.
Melanie continued.
“When he was going to go after Mom, he’d tell us to go play out front.”
Jiso’s skin prickled.
“What did Phillip do?”
“He’d take me.”
“How old was he?”
“Eight, nine, ten.”
Ethan’s age.
Jiso closed her eyes.
Melanie spoke through tears.
“Phillip used to stand by the porch window and listen.”
The words landed like something physical.
Not because they excused Phillip.
Because they explained the precision.
Outside.
Wait.
Listen.
Return when it became quiet.
Phillip had not invented the ritual.
He had inherited it.
Jiso whispered, “Does he know he’s doing the same thing?”
Melanie did not answer immediately.
Then:
“I think that’s why he’s always insisted he’s nothing like Dad.”
Jiso felt suddenly sick.
Because perhaps Phillip’s definition of being different had never been:
I don’t hit my wife.
May you like
Maybe it had been:
My son never sees it.
