Then he asked, “Did you take one today?”
“No.”
“Do you have any with you?”
I hesitated.
Then I remembered something.
That morning, Richard had placed a tablet in my handbag because we were supposed to visit our daughter after the appointment.
My hands shook as I searched through the bag.
Finally, I found a tiny folded tissue.
Inside was a pill.
The doctor didn’t touch it immediately.
Instead, he called a nurse and asked her to bring in the hospital social worker.
That was when fear hit me.
“Please,” I whispered. “Don’t tell Richard.”
The doctor looked directly at me.
“I won’t tell him anything without speaking to you first.”
Those words almost made me cry.
No one had asked my permission in years.
A few minutes later, someone knocked loudly on the door.
Richard.
“What’s taking so long?”
My entire body stiffened.
The doctor noticed.
“You don’t have to see him yet.”
Richard knocked again.
Harder.
“Margaret?”
I flinched.
The social worker entered through another door moments later.
Her name was Claire.
She sat beside me and spoke so gently that, at first, I barely understood the questions.
Had Richard ever prevented me from seeing people?
Yes.
Had he controlled my money?
Yes.
Had he ever told doctors I was confused?
Yes.
Had he ever threatened me when I refused the pills?
My mouth went dry.
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
I closed my eyes.
“He said that without them, I became dangerous.”
Claire glanced at the doctor.
“Dangerous to whom?”
“He never said.”
The truth was, I had never hurt anyone.
But Richard had repeated the word so often that eventually I began to fear myself.
The doctor ordered more tests and arranged for the pill to be identified through proper hospital procedures.
Hours passed.
