At My Purple Heart Ceremony, My Stepmother Swung a Folding Chair Into My Arm—Then My Father Looked Down Instead of Protecting Me
The first time I did push-ups after the fracture, my arm shook.
I stopped.
Started again weeks later.
No inspirational music.
Slow.
By fourteen months, my surgeon released me without major restrictions.
The scar remained.
So did occasional aching.
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