“When I was in middle school, my dad lost his job because the factoryid off a bunch of workers. My mom, though–she’d always worked so hard–she was spared. After that, my dad just… changed. He started drinking every day, ying cards with his buddies. One time, my mom tried talking to him, just said a few words, and he smashed a beer bottle over her head.”


    Vera’s voice was barely above a whisper, but it was as if she’d finally found a crack to let all the pain spill out. She didn’t know if the girl sitting across from her–a girl who’d clearly grown up with every


    advantage–could ever understand what it was like for a family like hers. But right now, she had no one else to talk to. No one except the girl in


    front of her.


    “Mom, are you okay?”


    Vera, just twelve then, had rushed up to her house when she saw a crowd gathered at the front steps.


    In the living room, broken ss from beer bottles was scattered everywhere. Her mother, Ca, was sitting on the floor clutching her head; blood dripped through her fingers, spattering the hardwood with


    blossoms of red.


    “Vera.<i>” </i>Ca looked stunned, but instinctively pulled her daughter into her


    arms.


    “Dad! What are you doing?” Vera stared at her father, disbelief and horror twisting her face.


    Both mother and daughter had tried to be understanding–after all, they knew how hard theyoff had hit him. They didn’t nag, didn’tin, just hoped he’d snap out of it in a few days.


    But “a few days” turned into a month.


    Ca had just finished working overtime for the fourth night in a row. She was finally off early and had stopped by the market to pick up some good


    10:02


    cuts of meat–nning to cook something special, hoping it might lift her husband’s spirits.


    Instead, she came home to a mess–beer bottles everywhere, dirty dishes piled high in the sink. The weight she’d been carrying all week suddenly. felt unbearable.


    She sighed and, unable to hold back, muttered a couple ofints while cleaning up. She never expected her husband to hurl a bottle at her. “I… I…” The man’s face was pale, panic flickering in his eyes as he dropped the jagged remains of the bottle.


    Outside, the neighbors whispered and gawked. He took a few steps back, looking lost, but when he caught their stares, he straightened his shoulders, trying to save face.


    “I’m the man of the house! I can do what I want! If you don’t listen, I’ll do the same to you!”


    “Dad?” Vera stared at him, unable to recognize the man in front of her. Sure, he’d always been stubborn and old–fashioned, but she’d never heard him talk like this.


    “What are you looking at? It’s my wife–I’ll teach her a lesson if I want!”


    “Oh, look at you, Hamlin! Real head of the household, huh?” one of the men in the crowd called out, half–joking, and a few others chimed in.


    “Yeah, if my wife talks back, I give her a smack too! She still listens, even if I do it a hundred times!”


    With every word of encouragement, Hamlin seemed to swell with pride, the earlier panic gone, reced with a twisted sense of bravado.


    “Mom, are <i>you </i>okay?” Vera’s tears streamed down her cheeks as she watched her father, listened to his warped words, and saw her mother still dazed and bleeding.


    The sight of them–Ca and Vera, huddled together and broken–drove some of the older neighbors away in silence, shaking their heads. Only a


    10.02


    few younger women stayed, speaking up.


    “Hamlin, she’s your wife. Can’t you just talk things out?”


    “Yeah, I ran into Ca at the store today–she said she was buying ribs to make your favorite barbecue for dinner. She’s a good woman. You should think about what you’re doing.”


    Hamlin shot a look at the woman who’d spoken, and her husband quickly tugged her away.


    “It’s Hamlin’s family–let him deal with it. Come on, let’s go.”