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When he comes back, he is covered in blood. I try not to act scared because he always says there’s nothing to be afraid of as long as we’re together. But he lies. He still treats me like a baby, like I don’t know what he did. Like I don’t know what anything means. His hands shake as he washes away the blood. So much blood. I don’t ask whose blood because I am afraid of the answer. My heart feels heavy and sad.

“It’s okay,” he tells me.

“No, it’s not. What did you do?”

He doesn’t answer. There’s blood on his shirt, too. His pants.

“You ruin everything!” I yell at him.

He keeps rinsing and rinsing. The water turns light red like the crayon I use to draw my flower.

“I hate you!”

With a sigh, he stops washing. “I know you don’t understand but I did what had to be done. To protect us. If they find you, they’ll take you. They’ll kill me.”

I almost shout that I wish they would kill him. He always says he’ll protect me. He’ll do anything to protect me.

But who will protect me from him?