Chapter 9: What Ryan Had To Say
I agreed to meet Ryan once.
In a coffee shop on neutral ground, with Carol sitting two tables away where he could see her.
He arrived before me.
He looked like he hadn't slept.
His jacket was wrong — the kind of wrong that happens when someone dresses without looking at themselves in the mirror.
I sat down across from him.
I didn't order anything.
"Thank you for coming," he said.
"Say what you need to say."
He looked at his hands.
"I didn't know how far she'd gone.
I want you to know that."
"How far did you know she'd gone?"
A long pause.
"I knew she didn't like you.
I knew she said things.
I told myself it was just — the way she was.
The way she'd always been with anyone who got close to me."
"She made a false police report using my name, Ryan."
"I didn't know about that."
"She sent letters to my mother and my sister telling them I was mentally unstable."
He closed his eyes briefly.
"I didn't know about the letters."
"She cultivated our neighbours.
She had photographs taken of me.
She built a fake journal designed to make me look like the @buser if I ever tried to leave."
He said nothing.
"What did you know?" I asked.
He looked up.
"I knew about the journal.
She told me she was keeping records.
I thought—" He stopped.
"I told myself it was just her being anxious.
Protective.
I didn't ask what was in it."
"You didn't ask."
"No."
I looked at him.
This man I had married.
This man who had stood in that kitchen and grabbed my arm while his mother raised a metal handle above my head.
"I loved you," I said.
Not as an accusation.
Just as a fact that needed to be said out loud.
His face cracked slightly.
"I know."
"And you let her do this."
"I didn't—" He stopped himself.
Started again.
"I kept telling myself it wasn't that bad.
That you were strong enough to handle it.
That if I stepped in it would make things worse." He pressed his fingers against his mouth for a moment.
"I was a coward.
That's the honest answer.
I was a coward and I told myself it was keeping the peace."
"She hjt me with a metal broom handle."
"I know."
"And you grabbed my arm."
"I know." His voice was very quiet.
"I've thought about nothing else for three days."
The coffee shop was warm and ordinary around us.
Someone at the counter was laughing at something.
Outside, a bus went past.
"I've given my statement," Ryan said.
"Everything I know.
The journal, the conversations she had with me about you, the time she told me she'd spoken to your family.
All of it." He looked at me.
"I'm not asking you to forgive me.
I'm not asking for anything.
I just needed you to know that I'm not protecting her anymore."
"What changed?"
He was quiet for a moment.
"She called me from the police station," he said.
"First thing she said wasn't are you all right or I'm sorry.
It was — *you need to get me out of this*." He looked at the table.
"Same voice she's used my whole life.
Same tone.
Like I was a tool she needed to pick up." He shook his head slowly.
"I don't know why that was the moment.
But it was."
I stood up.
"I hope you get some help," I said.
"I mean that.
Not as an insult.
I think you've been managed by her for so long you don't know what your own choices feel like."
He didn't answer.
But he didn't look away either.
I walked to Carol's table.
She stood up without a word, and we left together.
Outside on the pavement, Carol linked her arm through mine.
"How do you feel?" she said.
May you like
"Like I just closed a door," I said.
"And I don't need to open it again."
