MY SON HIT ME 30 TIMES IN FRONT OF HIS WIFE… SO THE NEXT MORNING, WHILE HE WAS SITTING IN HIS OFFICE, I SOLD THE HOUSE HE THOUGHT WAS HIS

He pushed me.

And then he started hitting me.

And I counted.

Not because I was weak.

But because it was over.

Every blow was ripping something from me: love, hope, excuses.

By the time he stopped, he breathed as if he had won.

Emily kept looking at me like I was the problem.

I cleaned my mouth blood.

I looked at my son.