They Never Learn

by Layne Fargo

Reading was my most reliable escape in childhood, the one way I could get away from my father while still trapped in the same space with him.

Unlikely. If men like that could learn the error of their ways, I wouldn’t have to teach so many of them a lesson.

His face darkens with a mixture of embarrassment and anger—perhaps the most dangerous combination of emotions in a man.

I slide into a seat in the corner and pull a notebook out of my backpack, my heart pounding as I turn to a fresh page. He wasn’t afraid of me, I write. That was his first mistake.