When my shaking ten-year-old begged me to hurry home, I had no idea a nightmare was waiting. I raced inside to find my husband and child cold and motionless on the living room rug. Paramedics rushed in, but the lead officer grabbed my arm, shaking his head. “Ma’am, this wasn’t an accident…”

me from the sleepwalking, complacent existence I had been sharing with a parasitic monster. It taught me the most brutal lesson of adulthood: Safety is not a geographical coordinate. It is not a manicured lawn in a quiet subdivision behind a white picket fence. Safety is relentless awareness. Safety is aggressive action.

I walked across the kitchen continue reading …