My husband pushed me down the stairs, and as I lay shattered at the bottom, my mother-in-law called my father and said, “Come get your worthless daughter and take her back.” Dad gave her only one warning: “If she has so much as a scratch, your family will answer for it.” They laughed at him because they had absolutely no idea who my father truly was.

We won’t make her carry the fight.”

He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket.

It was Lily’s latest drawing from our refrigerator: three stick figures holding hands under a purple sun.

“I grabbed this when I went to your apartment for your charger,” he said.

I pressed it to my chest gently, above the fractures.

The paper was crinkled, but everyone in the drawing was still holding on.

PART 5