When he left, he kissed my forehead, not in comfort, but as a command.
I had forgotten how Cohen could punish me.
He was vengeful, especially when it came to me being around others.
I remembered a time from my childhood when I had sneaked out to play with the other kids while Cohen was undergoing physical therapy.
I’d made sure to return before his session ended, but Cohen panicked. He searched for me for hours, asking why I hadn’t stayed home with him.
That day, despite never raising his voice at me, he made me stand in punishment for an hour. He told me I wasn’t allowed to leave without his permission.
Cohen’s attention usually made me feel the warmth of family, but now, it only unsettled me. I couldn’t stand the thought of him remaining entangled with Imogen while I told myself everything was fine between us. This wasn’t right.
I saw the cracks in Cohen’s behavior for the first time. With everyone else, he was rational and composed. But with me, it was different. It felt as if he was holding me close yet unwilling to truly embrace me. He seemed torn, believing he shouldn’t touch me yet not ready to let me go.
“Fine, I’ll go,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.