The Unraveling Series™ FABLES
What Was Allowed to Continue
FABLES III of VII
By Sandy Hoffman
First Cycle, 2026
*
What Was Allowed to Continue
FABLES III of VII
By Sandy Hoffman
First Cycle, 2026
*
By then, everyone had chosen a version of the story that let them sleep.
His wife said he had a temper, nothing more.
A hard childhood.
Too much stress.
A hard childhood.
Too much stress.
She said it the way some people mentioned the weather.
As if endurance were a kind of maturity.
As if endurance were a kind of maturity.
His brother said that was just how men in their family spoke.
Loud first.
Sorry later.
No point making a spectacle of private things.
Sorry later.
No point making a spectacle of private things.
His mother preferred to remember him as a boy with a feverish forehead,
And bad dreams.
And bad dreams.
She kept that image polished.
It fit better in her hands than the others.
It fit better in her hands than the others.
The neighbors heard enough to lower the television.
The children learned the house by sound:
The children learned the house by sound:
A plate against the wall meant stay in the room.
A chair scraping back meant the hallway was no longer safe.
A chair scraping back meant the hallway was no longer safe.
Silence, afterward,
Meant no one should ask.
Meant no one should ask.
In the morning, the bruises would be explained
The way repeated things are explained:
The way repeated things are explained:
Clumsy.
Tired.
Under pressure.
Going through something.
Tired.
Under pressure.
Going through something.
People did not exactly believe it.
Belief was too active a thing.
Belief was too active a thing.
What they had was preference.
The pastor asked if she had tried being softer when he came home.
The doctor did not ask how the wrist had broken,
Only whether it still hurt when she turned it.
The doctor did not ask how the wrist had broken,
Only whether it still hurt when she turned it.
The sister brought over a casserole twice a month
And kept her eyes on the sink when she spoke.
And kept her eyes on the sink when she spoke.
Even the children participated,
Though they would not have called it that.
Though they would not have called it that.
When classmates asked about the split in the little boy's lip,
He shrugged and said he ran into a door.
He had seen his mother say it before.
It seemed to make adults grateful.
He shrugged and said he ran into a door.
He had seen his mother say it before.
It seemed to make adults grateful.
Gratitude, he was learning,
Often arrived when truth was made smaller.
Often arrived when truth was made smaller.
Years passed like this.
Not quickly.
Not slowly either.
Not quickly.
Not slowly either.
Just long enough for habit to begin wearing the clothes of fate.
Then one winter evening,
The girl next door stood on her porch
Holding her shoes in her hands.
The girl next door stood on her porch
Holding her shoes in her hands.
No coat.
No bag.
Just shoes.
No bag.
Just shoes.
She had run through sleet in her socks.
Her mouth was bleeding from the inside.
Her mouth was bleeding from the inside.
When the neighbor opened the door,
The girl did not cry.
The girl did not cry.
She only kept looking back at the house,
As if something inside it might still call her name
And make her return.
As if something inside it might still call her name
And make her return.
Later, after the police,
After the statements,
After the ambulance lights thinned across the lawn
And left everything looking ordinary again,
The block settled into its familiar hush:
After the statements,
After the ambulance lights thinned across the lawn
And left everything looking ordinary again,
The block settled into its familiar hush:
Curtains moved.
Porch lights clicked off one by one.
Inside their separate homes,
People sat with the knowledge as it finally was.
Porch lights clicked off one by one.
Inside their separate homes,
People sat with the knowledge as it finally was.
Not sudden.
Not new.
Only visible.
Not new.
Only visible.
The next morning,
Shards of a ceramic plate were still glittering in the flower bed.
Shards of a ceramic plate were still glittering in the flower bed.
No one could say whose it had been.
*
Sandy Hoffman, 2026
The Unraveling Series™ FABLES
First Cycle, 2026
The Unraveling Series™ FABLES
First Cycle, 2026