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

Good.

I stood near the side curtain.

My left forearm felt strong.

Scar faint beneath the sleeve.

The Purple Heart was at home.

Not worn that day.

I did not need it for Samuel’s ceremony.

I did not need it to walk into the room.