I Prayed for a Miracle—Now I Lock My Door at Night

” she said. “My son is twenty-six. Brain injury from a fall. Same frontal lobe stuff. Rage. Impulses. The charming mask. The threats.”

My stomach twisted.

“You know?” I whispered.

She gave a humorless smile.

“I know,” she said. “I also know what it feels like to be afraid of the person you would die for.”

That sentence landed in my chest like a stone.

Marisol continue reading …