Judith's sitting with her blanket covering her from the waist down and her gaze fixed on her hands. Her quivering lips are parted, ready to tell him everything, but her brain won't let her. She feels a cloudiness sweep above her that no amount of deep breaths blow away.

"Mom," she forces herself to say despite the lump forming in her throat, and it comes out in a quiver.

"Take your time." He sits his hand on hers, and she glances at him. He's wearing a faint smile that only worsens her saddened heart.

"It doesn't matter." He furrows his brows, and she slightly tilts her shaking head. "In the end, you married her, so whatever I say bad about her, you won't believe."

"That's not fair to say, Judy. At least try before you assume that I won't care or listen," he tells her in a soft voice, and she bows her head.

"Last December, I wanted to drown myself after we came back from the theater," she rushes the words from her mouth before her body can force her into further silence. She doesn't look at him, but his eyes are slightly wider. "I did it because of David and Mom."

"What did they do," he asks as his eyes wander onto her white shirt, and she returns her gaze to meet his.

"He - made me do things that I wasn't ready to do, and when I tried to tell Mom, she yelled at me and said not to tell anyone else." He rolls his eyes and scoffs incredulously, and she scans him up and down, her lips sealed. She shakes her head. "I knew you wouldn't believe me."

"No, no, no, I believe you, Judy," he assures her, and her tense body relaxes. "Trust me, I'm upset with her and him, not you. God, I should've known!"

"It's not your fault, Dad," she tells him after he thrusts himself to his feet. He looks at her over his shoulder.

"Oh, I know, but the fact that she hid that from me - hell no!" Judith watches him storm toward her door, and when his right hand touches the knob, she takes in a breath.

"You two are gonna argue again - aren't you?" He shakes his head no at her question, but she doesn't believe him. She slides onto her back as he slips into the hall, her gaze on him.

Hours pass and the clock strikes eleven, but Judith is lying awake, listening to her parents shout at each other from their room. Vera pushes the door open, and she takes her eyes off of the ceiling to look at her. A frown mars her innocent face, and her sister rises to get a better look at her.

"Can I sleep in here, please," her voice breaks, and when she draws her comforter back, Vera runs into the opening. She nestles into her older sister's frail arms once they lie down. "I wish Daddy would just leave Mom."

Judith relaxes her chin on her sister's head, and Vera listens to the warbling of her heart.

"Me too," she mumbles to her.

***

Judy descends the stairs wearing a black, sleeveless romper and leather jacket with her bag over her shoulder. Her parents and younger siblings are seated at the dining table, eating pancakes and eggs when she approaches.

"You're up early," Walter says with his black mug in his right hand. He takes a sip of his coffee, looking over the brim at his wife when she clears her throat.

"Would you like a plate," Sheryl asks with a forced smile, and Judith shakes her head. The contempt she felt the night before has dissolved to pity at the sound of her mother attempting to be more polite.

"I should go catch the bus." She darts her eyes at all of them. Vera has a yellow ribbon in her ponytail, and she's wearing a denim skirt and a black and white striped shirt. Her brother is wearing a Burgundy shirt and blue jeans.

"You skip breakfast every morning, and it's taking a toll on you, Judith. Do you even have any money to pay for whatever they're offering at your school?" Judith narrows her eyes and purses her lips at her mother.

"Right, come here. I have a twenty that I can give you." They look at Walter, and he sits his mug next to his empty plate, lifts himself from his hips, and shuffles his hands into his pockets. Judy cautiously walks toward him when he retrieves his brown leather wallet and lowers himself.

"Thank you, Dad." She accepts the bill, flashing him a quick smile before glancing at her siblings. She sits the bag on the floor, bending forward to open a compartment.

"Do you need a ride?" When her father asks, she looks up at him. "I'm driving the kids to school, so there'll be room for you if you need it."

"Thank you. Yes, sir. I got up earlier than I anticipated, and it's too cold to wait for the bus." When she's finished storing her money in the front pouch, she stands up straight and tosses her bag over her shoulder.

"Before you leave," Sheryl interjects, and she forces another grin when they look at her. "Let me change your head wrap and pack another roll into your bag."

Judith glances at her father with furrowed brows as her mother stands to her feet. She's not acting like herself, and Judy notices.

Sheryl hoists the chair closest to the arch into her right hand, and she carries it toward the sink with Judith cautiously in tow.

"Head to the car," Walter tells the twins once they finish their food, and he swallows the final sip of his coffee.

The three of them remove themselves from their seats, and they stroll toward the arch. As he stands in the doorframe watching his wife and daughter, Vera and Stevie make their way to the front door.

"Your hair looks nice today," Sheryl says to her daughter, and he smiles at the compliment, but Judy doesn't.

She sits in the chair once her mother places it before the sink, and she watches him depart as Sheryl sifts through the brown paper bag on the counter.

When the door clicks shut behind him, they look at each other for a moment, then back to what's in front of them.

"I heard you and Dad last night," she says to clear the air, but her mother sighs in dismay. "I'm sorry for telling him about - well - everything."

"It's fine, Judy." She removes the bobby pins holding the sodden bandage to her head, and she sits them on the counter. She slowly unravels it into the sink. Heaving another sigh and shaking her head in disbelief, she says, "In my forty-nine years of living, I've learned to look behind the smiling faces of people and to choose my battles wisely. Your father was upset with me for not telling him about you and David, about something old that could've been put behind us if you hadn't have said anything."

"That's the thing, Mom," she cuts her off. Sheryl untwists the fresh roll with her eyes glued to her. "You got over it, but I didn't. I couldn't. Every day, it feels like a chore to get up and keep going, and it's because of the nightmares and memories that won't go away. It's like I have shell shock."

"You've never been in the army." She shakes her head, and Judith sighs. She wraps the new dressing around her head.

"I'm aware, but you're missing my point," she says, then sucks air through her clenched teeth when her mother gently presses her fingertips against the scar, holding the dressing in place so her right hand can collect a pin. "I didn't mean to upset anyone. That wasn't what was I thinking about."

"You don't think at all!" Her harsh words silence Judith. The rest of what she wanted to say is buried beneath the lump in her neck. "Otherwise, you would've gotten over it or, at least, held it in instead of blurting it out to a hot-headed man. Do you know how humiliating and degrading it is to hear your husband yell at you over something that he wasn't present enough to handle himself? No, you don't because you bear privileges that I never had at your age."

"I'm sorry," she mumbles, her eyes welling up. Sheryl clips the ends of the cast in place, and she shakes her head.

"Stop apologizing for things you're not sorry for. You're just selfish, Judith, and I blame myself for that." She averts her gaze toward the arch in front of her, tuning out her mother's voice. "Go to school and stay away from David."

She finishes changing her head wrap and packing her an extra. Judith blinks out of her trance, and tears drip down her cheeks.

"Thank you," she says, a sad smile on her face that Sheryl doesn't see. When her mother doesn't respond, she wipes her face and walks out of the house, and the morning wind sweeps across her, but it doesn't cheer her up.

Her father's beige citron is idling against the curb, her siblings are in the backseat, and her father's adjusting his tie with the help of his rearview mirror.

Judith walks towards his car, taking long breaths to calm herself, and when she reaches her door, she slips into the passenger side, resting her bag over her lap.

"Seatbelt," Walter says. Everyone's wearing theirs except for Judith, so she slides hers across her chest, and when it clicks in place, he sits back and drives down the road. He glances at Judy and furrows his brows when he notices the gloomy look in her eyes and the frown on her face as she stares at her book bag. "Are you okay?"

She looks at him, then smiles to hide her sadness. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine. I'm just tired."

Walter nods, but he narrows his eyes through her dark browns. He flickers his attention onto the twins' reflections. They're staring out of their respective windows.

"What about you two?" They look at him, and Judy turns to her window. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, sir," Vera says, but Stevie doesn't answer. They look at her brother, who's blankly staring at his father. He's angry with him but won't open his mouth to express it.

"Well, if you both are okay, then I suppose we have nothing to talk about." They don't respond, so he purses his lips and nods his head. Under his breath, he says, "Right on."

***

He pulls against the curb of her campus and looks at her with his foot on the brake. Stevie and Vera are gone, which leaves the two of them.

"Try not to bump into David today. Okay, Judy?" She stares at various students with mixed emotions - some smiling and some wandering with blank expressions - but hers is filled with sadness that he doesn't notice. "Judy?"

Her throat tightens, and her chest aches with a stabbing pain like a heart attack. Judith clenches the left side in her hands, and her quivering lips emit a low whimper. Walter furrows his brows.

"What's wrong?" She shakes her head and looks at him with her accumulating tears clouding her vision.

"I don't think I'll ever be okay again, Dad," she tells him but her voice cracks. He places his hand on hers and watches her cry with his eyes full of sympathy. "I try really hard, but it feels like no matter what I do, I still end up hurting and making people that I care about angry. It's like I'm cursed, and it's - it's not fair. What did I do?"

"You didn't do anything. Sometimes bad things happen, but don't blame yourself for this," Walter assures her, and his thumb gently caresses the top of her hand. "How about I pick you up after your classes are done, and we talk about what you're feeling? Does Dairy Queen sound good?"

She nods her head, and he smiles at her.