There was a strange satisfaction in her expression now, as though she had found a new way to hurt me.
“You keep acting like I invented discipline yesterday.”
I said nothing.
She continued.
“Ricardo knows exactly how children learn consequences.”
The sentence landed slowly.
I thought about my husband at urgent care.
The way the color had left his face.
The way he had dropped to his knees.
The way he had looked away once when a question was asked.
At the time I had dismissed it as shock.
Now the memory returned with sharper edges.
“What are you saying?”
Teresa’s eyes hardened.
“I’m saying your husband grew up just fine.”
“That still doesn’t answer the question.”
“He knows how discipline works.”
My heart began beating faster.
I needed to be careful.
I did not know whether Teresa was implying Ricardo had experienced the same treatment, witnessed it, or simply known about her beliefs.
The only person speaking was Teresa, and I was not going to turn an implication into a fact.
“What exactly does Ricardo know?”
