My Son Struck Me Thirty Times at His Birthday Dinner. The Next Morning, I Sold the Mansion He Thought He Owned.
The months after the hearing were not a smooth procession toward justice.
They were long, repetitive, and humiliating in ordinary ways.
There were forms to sign, questions to answer, records to retrieve, and lawyers who asked me to repeat details I had already said aloud more times than I could count.
The criminal case mattered to me, but I refused to let it become the whole of my life.
I still attended project meetings.
I still spoke to apprentices about workplace safety.