The nurse who had first questioned me stopped beside the door.
My husband stared at the phone.
His mother told the officer to turn it off because it was private family business.
He kept listening.
The recording continued until my knees hit the porch and my husband dragged me across the threshold.
No one had to interpret it.
The sounds explained themselves.
The officer asked whether there were other recordings.
“Months,” I said.
My husband looked at his mother.
She looked back at him with the same hard authority she had used in the backyard.
But the hallway was not their yard.
The door was open.
Other people could hear.
I selected another file.
