I remember trying to sleep while I heard her. I think she thought the sound of the running water muffled her crying, but it didn’t. I remember pulling my blankets up over my head, hoping the fabric would smother the sound. I would hum to myself whenever her crying was especially hard to ignore. I regularly fell asleep listening to her talk to herself out loud in the tub. She often spoke as if my dad were in the bathroom with her. It was as if she were practicing what she would say to him, given the chance. She would cry, “How could you do this?” and “I forgive you; of course I forgive you.”
