slicing her own skin. Her inner misery was so intense that physical pain actually brought a sort of relief. Ashley talked for a few more minutes while I struggled to imagine her life. I’d dress in black, too, if I’d lived through what she had. I was glad she’d found this support group.
“This is getting too heavy. Your turn.” Ashley turned toward Camille.
The classy woman pulled off her sunglasses. Yellow and green bruises framed one eye. “I called him today.”
A collective groan rose from the group.
She pursed her lips. “You don’t understand.” She seemed to remember I was there and turned toward me. “My husband.”
Tom’s gentle eyes flashed in my mind. I trusted him like no one else. How could a woman pick up the pieces from that kind of betrayal? I was here because I’d seen violence, but at least it wasn’t at the hands of someone I loved.
“A large percentage of violent crime is perpetrated by family members,” Dr. Marci said quietly in my direction. “It complicates the recovery from trauma.”
I’d expected a support group of people like Henry—victims of a one-time violent crime, trying to get past the way the shock had changed them. I’d never anticipated meeting people whose day-to-day life provided recurring trauma.
Camille played with a strand of her hair. “It’s not fair for me to walk away without giving him another chance.”
“It’s not fair for him to use you as a punching bag,” Henry said.
Dr. Marci took a sip of water. “Did you tell your counselor at the shelter that you called him?”
Camille dropped her chin and shook her head.
Ashley groaned. “Are you completely stupid? It took you months to work up the courage to get away.”
“Let’s stay constructive.” Dr. Marci remained calm and nonjudgmental. One of those counseling tricks. Did she ever want to shake one of the victims she counseled? “Camille, what feelings triggered a need to contact him?”
“I felt sorry for him.”
“And?”
“And . . . maybe I decided some of this was my fault.”
Henry and Ashley both started talking. Dr. Marci helped Camille unravel some of her feelings, with animated input from the others around the table. I sat back and played with my wedding ring. A quick glance at Bryan assured me that my child was doing just fine, so I turned my attention back to the group. As out-of-place as I’d felt when I walked in, there was no doubt these crime victims cared about each other. I’d just met them, and I already ached for what they’d gone through and wanted to see them recover.
“Okay, Penny. Your turn.”
Heads swiveled my direction.
My skin prickled, and heat rushed to my face. I shook my head. “Wow. Um. My problems seem so insignificant. I’m not sure I belong here.”
“So why are ya?” Ashley demanded.
“I . . . I’ve been having trouble sleeping and just don’t want to go out anymore since . . . it happened.”
“Tell us about when this started,” Dr. Marci said.
I stared at the table. “I was in a Quick Corner. A guy . . . Well, there was a crime.” I couldn’t go any further. If I pulled out one more fact the dam would break. The images would flood me again. “I’m not doing too bad, really. I just need some time to shake it off. I feel bad taking up your time.” I shot an apologetic glance at Ashley. “I had an easy childhood. I’ve got a loving husband, no career stresses. Just that one scary event. And I wasn’t even hurt. You’ve all faced things I can’t even imagine. I’m embarrassed to be here with my little issues.”
Ashley picked at a cuticle, drawing a bead of blood. “Cut yourself some slack. When you aren’t used to people being evil, it’s gotta shake you up to see somethin’ like that.”
Her compassion made me catch my breath. “Thanks,” I said hoarsely.
The discussion moved on, but I tuned out. I’d hit my limit for openness with a group of strangers. Voices rose and fell, laughter erupted a surprising
“This is getting too heavy. Your turn.” Ashley turned toward Camille.
The classy woman pulled off her sunglasses. Yellow and green bruises framed one eye. “I called him today.”
A collective groan rose from the group.
She pursed her lips. “You don’t understand.” She seemed to remember I was there and turned toward me. “My husband.”
Tom’s gentle eyes flashed in my mind. I trusted him like no one else. How could a woman pick up the pieces from that kind of betrayal? I was here because I’d seen violence, but at least it wasn’t at the hands of someone I loved.
“A large percentage of violent crime is perpetrated by family members,” Dr. Marci said quietly in my direction. “It complicates the recovery from trauma.”
I’d expected a support group of people like Henry—victims of a one-time violent crime, trying to get past the way the shock had changed them. I’d never anticipated meeting people whose day-to-day life provided recurring trauma.
Camille played with a strand of her hair. “It’s not fair for me to walk away without giving him another chance.”
“It’s not fair for him to use you as a punching bag,” Henry said.
Dr. Marci took a sip of water. “Did you tell your counselor at the shelter that you called him?”
Camille dropped her chin and shook her head.
Ashley groaned. “Are you completely stupid? It took you months to work up the courage to get away.”
“Let’s stay constructive.” Dr. Marci remained calm and nonjudgmental. One of those counseling tricks. Did she ever want to shake one of the victims she counseled? “Camille, what feelings triggered a need to contact him?”
“I felt sorry for him.”
“And?”
“And . . . maybe I decided some of this was my fault.”
Henry and Ashley both started talking. Dr. Marci helped Camille unravel some of her feelings, with animated input from the others around the table. I sat back and played with my wedding ring. A quick glance at Bryan assured me that my child was doing just fine, so I turned my attention back to the group. As out-of-place as I’d felt when I walked in, there was no doubt these crime victims cared about each other. I’d just met them, and I already ached for what they’d gone through and wanted to see them recover.
“Okay, Penny. Your turn.”
Heads swiveled my direction.
My skin prickled, and heat rushed to my face. I shook my head. “Wow. Um. My problems seem so insignificant. I’m not sure I belong here.”
“So why are ya?” Ashley demanded.
“I . . . I’ve been having trouble sleeping and just don’t want to go out anymore since . . . it happened.”
“Tell us about when this started,” Dr. Marci said.
I stared at the table. “I was in a Quick Corner. A guy . . . Well, there was a crime.” I couldn’t go any further. If I pulled out one more fact the dam would break. The images would flood me again. “I’m not doing too bad, really. I just need some time to shake it off. I feel bad taking up your time.” I shot an apologetic glance at Ashley. “I had an easy childhood. I’ve got a loving husband, no career stresses. Just that one scary event. And I wasn’t even hurt. You’ve all faced things I can’t even imagine. I’m embarrassed to be here with my little issues.”
Ashley picked at a cuticle, drawing a bead of blood. “Cut yourself some slack. When you aren’t used to people being evil, it’s gotta shake you up to see somethin’ like that.”
Her compassion made me catch my breath. “Thanks,” I said hoarsely.
The discussion moved on, but I tuned out. I’d hit my limit for openness with a group of strangers. Voices rose and fell, laughter erupted a surprising
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