Read Apart at the Seams for Free Online Page A

return to their abusers than those who don’t get job training, but still, it happens.
    People who’ve never been in that situation find this hard to fathom, but I get it. Time after time, Hodge would beat me and then beg my forgiveness, promise me it would never happen again. Time after time, I believed him. Until the next time.
    The day he hit Bethany was the day I knew I had to get out. If not for my kids, I’d probably never have found the courage to run or to keep from going back. It just breaks my heart that Judith is gone. I feel like I’ve failed her.
    Working at Cobbled Court Quilts is fun. I love the people I work with. Margot is the kindest person I’ve ever met. Virginia is like the grandma I never had. And Evelyn . . . well, Evelyn is just amazing. How many small business owners would let me spend 25 percent of my time coordinating the internship program, a program that involves eight different businesses in New Bern, not just her quilt shop, and still pay my full salary? Nobody I can think of. But what I really love about working here is working with the interns. I can never repay those who helped me escape the cycle, but I can help others who are still trapped, cheer them on, let them stand on my shoulders, give them a boost over the wall to freedom and safety.
    That’s why I decided to get my GED and start taking classes at the community college, because someday I want to help run a women’s shelter, maybe even be the director. Not for the money, though more money would be nice, but because that’s where my heart is—with the women.
    Â 
    Even though I skipped lunch, I spent the rest of the day playing catch-up—and losing. I was late leaving work and late picking up the kids from after-school care. Bethany never got my message about why I couldn’t make it to the spelling bee. I felt terrible. Even after I explained what happened, said we were going out for pizza to celebrate her victory (also because I hadn’t had time to get to the market), and solemnly promised I’d be there for the regional competition, she was still sulky and refused to talk to me. Bobby filled the silence, jabbering about school and some group called Boys’ Brigade that his friends had joined, and begging me to let him join too. Though I was only half listening, I said he could as long as it didn’t cost anything. It sounded like it’d be good for him, a way to spend more time with other boys. When it comes to raising Bobby, I sometimes feel like I’m flying blind. Bethany is easier; I know what to do with a girl. Well, some of the time. As she sat there, barely eating, refusing to look at me or speak to me while Bobby babbled happily about camping trips and bowling tournaments, I couldn’t help but wonder how I was ever going to survive the teen years.
    After feeding the kids and picking up the sitter, I drove to the community college as fast as I could. I took a seat in the back of the room, hoping my tardiness would go unnoticed. No such luck. Dr. Verstandig stopped the lecture to tell me that Dr. Streeter wanted me to drop by his office after class.
    He did? Why would the head of the humanities department want to see me?
    As soon as class was over, I went to Dr. Streeter’s office and knocked on the door, clutching my textbook to my chest as if that might stop my heart from pounding.
    When I’m in the presence of a male authority figure—a policeman, a judge, or even Reverend Tucker, who has to be the nicest man on the face of the earth—I feel anxious, like I’ve been caught doing something wrong and am about to be punished for it.
    The psychology class that I took last term helped me understand why. It’s all mixed up with how I was raised, the guilt I still feel over my father’s death when I was little, and, of course, the years of abuse I endured from my husband, who used to fly into a rage over even the tiniest infraction of