I Prayed for a Miracle, Now I Lock My Door Against My Son

the cheerful neighbors at the grocery store when they ask, “How is our miracle boy doing?”

I smile, pulling my cardigan sleeves down to hide the purple bruises on my forearms, and say, “Oh, he’s a fighter. Getting stronger every day.”

I don’t tell them that I’ve hidden every sharp knife in the house in a locked toolbox in the garage. I don’t tell them continue reading …