Chapter 2: Blame and Bruises

In the end, we managed to talk Autumn down. She gave up on jumping, but what came next was almost worse. Almost.

Once she was safe, her in-laws didn’t thank God or hug her—they started shouting. “Why’d you come down? You’ve embarrassed our whole family!” No relief. Just anger.

Her parents weren’t much better. “As long as Travis keeps paying the bills and looking out for you, you shouldn’t be thinking crazy thoughts. Life has to go on.” As if that’s all there is.

But the real kicker was Travis. When we called him during the crisis, he snapped, “That crazy woman, always causing me trouble!” No shame.

It was like Autumn wasn’t even a person to him—just another burden to toss aside. He redefined “scumbag” in that moment. Lowest of the low.

I pressed him to come home, and he finally did. When he saw Autumn safe, the first thing out of his mouth was, “Weren’t you going to jump? Why’d you come down?” No concern. Just annoyance.

Autumn, barely holding it together, started crying again, mumbling about going back up. Travis just sneered, “Go ahead! Do it now!”

Both kids burst into tears. The house filled with wailing, like a funeral before anyone had died. It was hell. Autumn’s heart broke all over again. She slumped onto the couch, silent, tears streaming down her face.

Autumn is soft. She only knows how to cry and endure. But me? I have a temper. I snapped, stormed over, and slapped Travis—twice, hard enough to leave handprints. “Your wife is like this and you’re still provoking her? Are you even human?” Monster.

Travis lunged at me, fists clenched, but my brother stepped in—big, broad-shouldered, the kind of guy you don’t mess with. Travis backed down, sulking like a scolded child. Coward.

He’s the kind who bullies the weak and fears the strong. But standing up for Autumn? I could only do so much. I couldn’t protect her forever. As long as Travis was in her life, she’d never be free.

After the rooftop incident, word spread through Maple Heights like wildfire. That’s how it goes in a town this size—good news stays home, bad news travels faster than a rumor at the beauty salon. Nothing spreads faster. Some folks live for the drama, and this was the juiciest story they’d had in years.

But what really burned me was how everyone blamed Autumn. “Jumping off a building during Thanksgiving? Bad luck,” some whispered. Others said, “She’s so petty—trying to kill herself over something so small.” And a few, shaking their heads, muttered, “She doesn’t know how lucky she is. Marrying someone like Travis is a blessing.” No one cared.

It didn’t matter that Autumn was the victim. All she got was scorn and ridicule. She was too ashamed to leave the house for months, hiding from the world while Travis strutted around town like nothing happened.

Meanwhile, Travis wasted no time. The very next day, he was out, puffing his chest, handing out cigarettes, complaining to anyone who’d listen that Autumn had ruined his plans for Thanksgiving in the city. No one called him out. Not a soul. Cowards.

The whole thing made me sick. Maple Heights is isolated, a little bubble where the rules are different. Gambling runs rampant, especially during Thanksgiving when all the folks who moved away come home. Poker games go on for days, and Travis is always at the table, tossing money around like it’s Monopoly cash. Like it was nothing.

I saw it myself that Saturday after Thanksgiving. He lost fifty grand in an hour, face turning an ugly shade of green. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Unbelievable. How could he waste so much while his wife wore threadbare clothes and his kids were stuck in the local elementary, denied any shot at a better education?

Even if he didn’t care about Autumn, shouldn’t he care about his own children? After all, even a wolf looks after its pups. But Travis was something else entirely. Worse than a wolf.

If it weren’t for what happened next, I might never have figured it out. The day he lost all that money was another nightmare for Autumn. It never ended.

After his losing streak, Travis called his mistress, who was furious he hadn’t spent Thanksgiving with her. The call ended in a screaming match. Loud. Ugly. Frustrated and drunk, he stormed home and took it out on Autumn.

Autumn’s daughter, Emily, ran to my house, tears streaming down her face. She was shaking. “Dad’s hitting Mom!” she sobbed, grabbing my hand and dragging me across the yard.

When I got there, the scene was chaos. Autumn’s face was swollen. Tangled hair. Tears everywhere. Travis’s parents sat at the table, eating dinner like nothing was happening. Her son wailed in the corner, and Emily clung to me, shaking.

Autumn was on her knees, begging Travis to stop. He yanked her up by the hair and shoved her hard. She crashed into the glass coffee table, her head smacking the corner. Blood gushed down her face, staining the carpet. Red everywhere.

I panicked. My hands shook as I called my brother, who helped me get Autumn to urgent care. Travis followed us in his truck, swaggering like nothing was wrong. Like he owned the place.

At the clinic, the doctor—a young guy, probably fresh out of med school—cleaned and bandaged her wounds. When he asked how she got hurt, I glared at Travis. “Her husband hit her.”

The doctor’s face hardened. He pulled out his phone to call the police. “This is domestic violence. This could’ve killed her.” He meant it.

For a moment, relief washed over me. Finally, I thought, someone was going to do something. But Autumn, barely conscious, struggled to sit up. “I fell by myself,” she insisted.

The doctor looked skeptical. “Are you sure?”

Autumn nodded, eyes empty. The doctor sighed, putting his phone away. He didn’t believe her, and neither did I. But what could we do? Nothing. She was the victim—if she wouldn’t tell the truth, what good was it for us to say otherwise?

I seethed in silence, helpless and angry. After everyone else left, Autumn turned to me, voice barely a whisper. “Savannah, am I useless?” It broke my heart.

I wanted to scream. “Why are you covering for him? He almost killed you today!” She didn’t answer.

She looked away. “If he gets arrested, what’ll happen to me? What about the kids?”

“Is your life any better now, with things like this?” I shot back.

“Do you really think getting him arrested would help me?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“Wouldn’t it?”

She shook her head. “When he gets out, he’ll just beat me even harder.”

“Then divorce him! File for divorce!” I said, my patience snapping.

“What would I do after the divorce? What about the kids? What will people in town think of me? They’ll just see me as a joke.” Always the same fear.

It all came back to the same question: “What will I do?” Like Russian nesting dolls, each worry hiding inside another. Layers and layers.

Who cares what the neighbors think? I wanted to shake her. You’re already at the bottom—why worry about people who never cared about you anyway? Let them talk.

Her reaction frustrated me more than Travis’s fists ever could. The young doc tried his best, recommending she get a thorough check-up at the city hospital. Autumn balked at the cost, wanting to forget the whole thing.

Unbelievable. Still trying to save Travis’s money, even now. I was furious. She never learns. I shoved her into my car and drove straight to the city, ignoring her protests.

At the city hospital, a female doctor examined Autumn. After checking her injuries, she snapped, “What an animal.” She meant it.

The doctor had seen it all before. She offered to give Autumn a medical report, explained she could sue Travis for domestic violence and file for divorce. Autumn just shook her head, numb and silent. No fight left.

The doctor gave up, suggesting she stay for observation. Autumn tried to refuse, but I shot her a look and she caved, curling up on the hospital bed like a child. Small and scared.

I knew she was worried about the bill. But watching her risk her health to save a few hundred bucks made me want to scream. If it weren’t for twenty-plus years of friendship, I might have let her jump off that roof after all.

She drives me crazy, but I can’t let her go. Never.