My son hit me last night and I stayed quiet. This morning, I laid out my lace tablecloth, baked a full Southern breakfast, and set the good china like it was Christmas. He came downstairs, saw the biscuits and grits, smirked, and said, “So you finally learned,” but his face changed the second he saw who was sitting at my table.

Sheriff Reed slid a folded paper across the table. “This is a written statement. Your mother signed it this morning. Assault of a family member is a serious charge in this county.”

Daniel’s bravado cracked. “Mom, come on,” he said, voice dropping. “You know I didn’t mean it. I was stressed.”

Elaine leaned forward. “So was Dad when he was dying,” she said sharply. “He never lifted a hand.”

Daniel pushed back his chair. “This is insane. You’re all ganging up on me.”

“No,” I said. “This is accountability.”

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