Chapter 2: The Things a Mother Hides
Monica had been married to Curtis for seven years.
When she first met him, she thought she had finally found someone who understood what it meant to be a single mother.
She was thirty-one then, working long shifts at a nursing home on Cleveland's east side, raising Malik with help from her older sister whenever she could get it.
Malik's biological father had disappeared when the boy was four.
There had been promises.
Birthday cards.
Occasional phone calls.
Then nothing.
Monica never wanted Malik to grow up believing he wasn't worth staying for.
So when Curtis entered their lives, she was careful.
He took Malik to basketball practice.
He helped him with multiplication tables.
He even attended a school science fair when Monica couldn't get off work.
One evening, Malik had come running into the kitchen holding a handmade certificate.
"Mom! Look! Curtis said my project was the best one!""
Curtis laughed from the doorway.
"That's because the boy's got a brain. He just needs to use it.""
Monica smiled.
"Thank you for being there for him.""
Curtis kissed her forehead.
"He's my family now.""
Those words had meant everything.
She hadn't realized how easily a person could use the word family as a weapon.
The first serious warning came two years into their marriage.
Malik was eleven.
He had accidentally broken one of Curtis's expensive headphones while cleaning the living room.
Curtis found the damaged pair on the couch.
"Who did this?""
Malik stepped forward.
"It was me. I'm sorry. I didn't see them.""
Curtis held up the headphones.
"You think money grows on trees?""
"No, sir.""
"Then why are you touching things you can't replace?""
Monica came out of the laundry room.
"Curtis, he apologized. I'll replace them.""
Curtis turned toward her.
"Stay out of it.""
"But—"
"I said stay out of it.""
Malik looked at Monica.
She recognized that expression.
The same one she had seen on her own face as a little girl when adults argued.
"Go finish your homework, baby," she told him.
Malik disappeared down the hallway.
That night, Curtis told Monica she was raising a spoiled child.
She didn't sleep much.
But she stayed.
She told herself every marriage had disagreements.
She told herself Curtis was stressed.
She told herself Malik needed a father figure.
She told herself a lot of things.
At 8:17 that evening, the Cleveland police arrived at their house.
Monica had finally managed to get Malik to place the gun on the kitchen floor and step away from it.
She hadn't asked him to hand it to her.
She hadn't touched it.
She had simply kept talking until he moved toward the hallway and sat on the bottom stair.
Curtis immediately began straightening the living room.
He picked up a cushion.
Then he adjusted the television volume.
It was almost impressive how quickly he could pretend nothing had happened.
When the officers entered, he walked toward them.
"Thank God you're here," he said.
"My wife's son came home threatening me with a gun.""
Monica stood beside the kitchen doorway.
One officer, a Black woman with short natural hair, looked at her cheek.
"Ma'am, are you injured?""
Curtis answered before Monica could.
"She bumped into the table.""
The officer didn't look at him.
"I asked your wife.""
Monica swallowed.
"My husband hit me.""
Curtis's head snapped around.
"Monica!""
The officer raised one hand.
"Sir, please step back.""
He obeyed, but his expression turned poisonous.
The second officer approached Malik.
"Son, what's your name?""
"Malik.""
"How old are you, Malik?""
"Sixteen.""
"Can you tell me what happened?""
Malik looked toward his mother.
Monica nodded.
He took a breath.
"I came home from school. He was holding my mom. She told him to let go, and he wouldn't.""
Curtis scoffed.
"That's not what happened.""
The female officer turned.
"You'll have your opportunity to speak.""
"He came in here with a gun!"" Curtis insisted.
The officer glanced at the weapon on the floor, then back at Malik.
"Where did you get it?""
Malik hesitated.
Monica's heart began pounding.
"Malik?""
He looked down.
"It was in the garage.""
Curtis laughed.
"Of course. Now we're getting somewhere.""
Monica looked at him.
"Don't.""
Curtis spread his arms.
"What? You want to pretend your son didn't walk in here armed?""
The officer interrupted.
"Mr. Curtis, I need you to stop addressing your wife.""
Then she turned to Monica.
"Do you feel safe in this house?""
Monica opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Safe.
It was such a simple word.
Yet she couldn't remember the last time she'd felt it.
Curtis had his paycheck.
His name was on the mortgage.
His clothes filled half the bedroom.
His voice could change the temperature of an entire room.
But the question wasn't whether he owned the house.
It was whether she could live in it without being afraid.
"I don't know," she finally whispered.
The officer nodded.
"That's okay. We can talk about that.""
Curtis stepped forward.
"You're not seriously going to let this become some domestic violence situation because of a little argument?""
The officer looked at Monica's cheek again.
"Did she say it was a little argument?""
Curtis fell silent.
Later, while one officer spoke with Malik, the female officer asked Monica to step outside.
The November air was cold.
A neighbor's porch light flickered across the street.
Monica wrapped her arms around herself.
"My name is Officer Daniels," the woman said.
"I want to ask you something, and I need you to answer honestly.""
Monica nodded.
"Has he hurt you before?""
Monica stared at the pavement.
"Not like today.""
Officer Daniels waited.
Monica closed her eyes.
"He shoved me once. A few months ago. He apologized afterward.""
"Anything else?""
"He grabbed my wrist. Sometimes he blocks the doorway when I try to leave.""
Officer Daniels spoke gently.
"Does your son know?""
Monica shook her head.
"I tried to keep him out of it.""
"Sometimes children know more than we think.""
Monica looked toward the living room window.
Malik was sitting on the stairs.
His backpack lay beside him.
He hadn't taken off his shoes.
"He shouldn't have had to see that," Monica whispered.
"No," Officer Daniels replied.
"He shouldn't.""
A minute passed.
Then Monica asked the question she had been afraid to ask.
"Is my son going to prison?""
Officer Daniels considered her carefully.
"He's a minor. The circumstances matter. We need to establish where the firearm came from, whether it was legally possessed, and exactly what happened. But right now, the most important thing is making sure everyone is safe.""
Monica nodded.
Her eyes burned.
"He's a good boy.""
"I believe you.""
"He gets good grades. He plays basketball. He wants to go to college.""
"Then let's make sure one terrible afternoon doesn't define his life.""
Monica looked at her.
For the first time that evening, she felt someone was listening to her instead of judging her.
Then the front door opened.
Curtis stepped onto the porch.
"Monica, come inside. We need to talk.""
Officer Daniels turned toward him.
"Sir, she is speaking with me.""
Curtis ignored her.
"Baby, don't do this. We can settle this as a family.""
Monica stared at him.
Baby.
He hadn't called her that in months.
Not since the arguments became more frequent.
Not since she began sleeping with her bedroom door locked.
"Go back inside, Curtis," she said.
His eyes narrowed.
"What?""
"I said go inside.""
Curtis looked at Officer Daniels, then at Monica.
A smile appeared on his face.
It wasn't a kind smile.
"Fine. But don't forget who pays the bills.""
He disappeared through the doorway.
Officer Daniels watched him go.
Then she turned back to Monica.
"Has he ever threatened your son?""
Monica hesitated.
And suddenly, she remembered something.
Three nights earlier, Curtis had stood in the hallway outside Malik's bedroom and said something she had tried desperately to forget.
One day, that boy is going to learn what happens when he gets in my way.
Monica looked at the officer.
"Yes," she whispered.
And when she explained what Curtis had said, Officer Daniels immediately asked another question.
"Monica, does your husband have access to any other firearms?""
Monica's blood ran cold.
May you like
Because she knew the answer.
And she knew Curtis had never told her where he kept them.
