My son h.i.t me 30 times in front of his wife… so while he was sitting in his office the next morning, I sold the house he thought was his.
I counted every single s.lap as it struck my face, forcing myself to stay present even as the pain blurred the edges of the room. By the time my son’s hand hit me for the thirtieth time, my lip was split open, blood filled my mouth, and whatever denial I still held as a…
