Trauma is insidious. It weaves itself into your mind and lingers. When you least expect it, it emerges to knock you flat.

Recently, I came home from work and found a business card attached to my mailbox. On the front was the logo for the Bethlehem Police Department. On the back was a written phone number and the words “Please call.”

Immediately I started to worry. James was home with me, but Erick was at work.

I called the number and got voicemail that stated the department I’d reached was Traffic. Okay, deep breaths. Probably traffic wouldn’t be the ones calling if Erick was hurt. I looked at my phone again, and there was a text from Erick. He had seen the card on his way out of the house. Okay, so the kids are accounted for. Good.

Erick’s text also mentioned banging on the door. Here’s the thing. During the worst times, my ex banged on closed and locked doors. If you didn’t respond quickly, he would do his best to force the door open. It was very scary.

That brought back my bad memories. Shared trauma is great. So for the rest of the day I felt uneasy, as the numerous memories of the door being forced open rose to the front of my thoughts.

The traffic officer called me back. It turned out he was looking for my landlord’s phone number, to see if they could contact the business downstairs for access to their cameras for a car accident that may have been recorded.

We have not lived with my ex in almost five years. The trauma is fading slightly, but it’s never far away.