I pulled back a new layer of her damage each day. She was just starting to get out of the habit of asking me for permission. Monroe checked in with me about everything—what we would eat for dinner, where she should go, and how she should style her hair. Yesterday, she asked me if she could go out on the front porch. Her constant need to get every single decision approved showed me how damaged she was. It was so bad I made her swear to me that nigga hadn’t been putting his hands on her. She said he hadn’t, but physical abuse or not, the emotional and psychological abuse was apparent.
