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My husband slammed my hand onto the burning stove because the steak was “overcooked.” As I collapsed in agony, my mother-in-law stepped over me, laughing, “She needs to learn her place.” My father-in-law just turned up the TV. They thought I was reaching for a bandage. I smiled through the tears and whispered, “enjoy your last few minutes of peace.” then, the siren lights flashed outside…

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my bones.

The silence in this house no longer sounded like impending danger, waiting to strike.

It sounded like absolute, unassailable freedom.

And in this house, at long last, I had learned my rightful place. My place was standing tall. My place was safe. My place was here, in the life I had violently reclaimed.

Because this house was mine.

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