At My Purple Heart Ceremony, My Stepmother Swung a Folding Chair Into My Arm—Then My Father Looked Down Instead of Protecting Me

Strength lagged.

I had to retrain.

Not because Gertrude permanently destroyed my arm.

Because healing takes work.

One afternoon, during physical therapy, the therapist handed me a five-pound weight.

“Don’t get emotional.”

I warned.

He laughed.