My husband shoved me, shattering the bathroom mirror. His mother sneered, “Clean up this disgusting mess.” But as I fell, my husband roared, “What’s in your pocket?!” The red LED of my federal distress fob pulsed. Denied the third click, I threw myself onto the broken glass, and…

I slowly reached for the silver pen, letting my hand shake violently. The bloody towel wrapped around my palm hindered my grip. I let the pen slip from my fingers, clattering onto the hardwood floor.

“I… I can’t hold it,” I whimpered, hyperventilating. “My hand hurts too much. I can’t read this. It’s too blurry.”

“Pick up the damn pen!” Vance roared,continue reading …