“Maybe now you’ll learn your place,” my mother-in-law sneered after my husband attacked me while I held our sick baby post-surgery. Weak and trembling, I locked us in the room and dialed one number. Minutes later, heavy boots kicked down the front door, and my husband’s face went pale as my father walked in wearing his general’s uniform and said…

know I was holding. His sister, Denise, lived merely a few miles away and pledged to be a constant presence. I envisioned a cocoon of familial support, extra hands to rock the bassinet, and perhaps a measure of grace while my body knitted itself back together.

I was fatally naive.

The first week home devolved into a claustrophobic, sleep-deprived purgatory.continue reading …