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My brother shouted at my nine-year-old son while my parents stood by, then left him coll@psed beside my front door. “I corrected him,” Mark said. “He deserved it,” my mother added. They assumed I would protect the family’s reputation. Then the medic looked at my brother, turned pale, and asked if I knew who he really was.

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medical attention and space.

My son needed to understand that the adult responsible for protecting him would not bargain with his safety simply because the person who harmed him shared our bl00d.

I went with him.

My mother followed me toward the doorway.

“Please,” she murmured. “Think about what this might do to the family.”

I turned back.

“I am.”

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