She’ll enter through the front door, scuffing odd bits of dirt and leaf.
She might curse then, but the silence in the room will be odd enough to make her turn.
She’ll see her love there on the floor like a puppet held in place by unseen strings, his parents seated awkwardly above.
She’ll wonder about the look she sees glimmering in her love’s eyes until she suddenly recognizes it . . . unmistakable . . . as fear.
“Did you hit him?” will say the father, his voice even and fair.
She’ll look back down at her love only to catch his head hung low.
This is it.
It’s finally all caught up with me.
How could I have taken him so for granted?
But I never…
Despite or regardless, her role and her love’s will have certainly been reversed.
She’ll know he’s probably forgotten everything.
“Did you hit him?” the father will repeat.
“No,” she’ll manage, her tone strange and cracked by new emotions.
The father will then reach into a shirt pocket and silently withdraw something like an iun.
Turning it, he’ll tap the screen.
She’ll hear a shaky rustling noise, and be shown dim footage of herself smacking her love hard across the mouth.
Her vicious snarling face on the screen will be mouthing nasty words, unheard.
And none of it will make any sense.
She would never hurt her love’s sweet face, not in a million lifetimes.
Yet what of the evidence?
“I wouldn’t…” she’ll begin.