At My Purple Heart Ceremony, My Stepmother Swung a Folding Chair Into My Arm—Then My Father Looked Down Instead of Protecting Me
Years after the assault, Samuel and I attended a small veterans’ fundraiser.
No uniforms.
No medals.
Just dinner.
At some point, a volunteer started stacking metal folding chairs against the wall.
Scrape.
Clang.
Scrape.
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