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.
My ribs still hurt.
My marriage was broken.
I had no idea what our finances would look like when the accounting ended.
Yet a picture formed in my mind: Lily asleep beneath the flowered quilt in Dad’s guest room, her socks mismatched, her fox tucked against the pillow.
At home, I made a list of groceries.
Strawberries.
Pasta.
Oatmeal.
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