Then he climbed the stairs toward his son, toward the life they had built out of horror and labor and love, and toward a future that no longer belonged to the people who tried to break them.
My son sobbed the entire drive to his grandmother’s house. “Daddy, please don’t leave me here.” My wife snapped, “You’re babying him.” I left him anyway. Three hours later, a neighbor called. “Your little boy ran to my house shaking. He’s hiding under my bed and won’t stop crying.”
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