Chapter 4 - Purple and Yellow Secrets
A dark, terrifying stillness settled inside my brain. The world around me slowed down to a crawl. My training as a trauma nurse kicked in—the cold, hyper-focused state I entered whenever a cardiac arrest patient bled out on my table.
I didn't scream. I didn't rush in blindly.
I walked smoothly into the dining room, crouched down next to my mother, and took her trembling, bleeding hands gently out of the broken porcelain.
"Sarah... no... don't touch it, you'll get dirty..." my mother whimpered, her eyes wide with terror as she tried to pull away from me.
"Shh," I whispered softly in her ear. "It's okay, Mom. Stand up."
Melissa stood above us, her arms crossed over her chest, tapping her silk shoe impatiently against the rug. "Take her back to her room, Sarah. She’s completely ruined the evening. Honestly, she's becoming a liability to have around normal people."
I ignored Melissa completely. I put my arms under my mother’s shoulders and lifted her up off the floor. As I did, the long sleeve of her faded wool sweater pulled up past her thin forearm.
My heart stopped.
Underneath the thick fabric of her sleeve, wrapping around her thin, bony wrists and extending up toward her elbow, was a horrific tapestry of abuse.
There were deep, purple-black contusions that were only a few days old. Beneath them were sickly yellow-green fading marks from weeks prior. There were crescent-shaped cuts near her thumbs that looked like fingernail digs, and dark, circular pinch marks along her upper arm.
These weren't the marks of an old woman slipping on a rug. These were defense wounds. These were the marks of repeated, systemic, physical restraint and physical violence.
My breath caught in my throat. I pulled her sleeve up further, revealing her shoulder. More bruises.
"Mom," I whispered, my voice shaking uncontrollably as I pointed to the dark purple marks on her wrist. "What is this?"
My mother instantly yanked her sleeve down, her skin turning ghost-white. She looked frantically toward Melissa, then toward Derek, her jaw quivering.
"I... I fell in the garden," she stammered, refusing to look me in the eye. "I slipped on the wet steps last week... I'm just clumsy, Sarah, you know how clumsy I am..."
She couldn't even finish the sentence. Her eyes welled with tears of profound, agonizing shame.
I looked up from my mother’s face and locked eyes with Melissa.
Melissa didn't look guilty. She didn't look afraid. She offered me a small, mocking smile, leaning in slightly. "Old people lose their balance all the time, Sarah. You should know that, being a nurse. Now take her to the back before she embarrasses us any further."
I stared at Melissa. I stared at my brother Derek, who was calmly chatting with a guest near the bar as if nothing had happened.
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"Come on, Mom," I said gently, guiding her by her waist. "Let's go to your room."
I led her away from the dining room, away from the laughter that resumed the second we stepped out of sight, and brought her into the dark, quiet space of the laundry alcove.
