Chapter 1
My son hit me thirty times in front of his wife — so the next morning, while he sat in his office, I sold the house he thought was his
I counted every single slap as it struck my face.
One.
Two.
Three.
His wife stood by the stairs with her arms folded, like she was waiting for me to finish being inconvenient.
I didn't lift my hands.
I didn't scream.
I stayed on my feet and I counted.
By twenty, my left eye had started to close. By thirty, Daniel was out of breath, and I was still standing in the living room of the house he liked to call his.
He pointed at my face.
"You don't touch her things. You don't forget whose house this is."
May you like
Then he went to the couch and turned on the TV, like the night could go back to normal if the volume was high enough.
I went to my room and locked the door.
