When I reach him, he shoves me as hard as he can. I stumble back a step, but I don’t let it stop me. Again, I go to grab him, and he shoves me. Over and over, he shoves me, slaps at me…futilely fighting me off as I bring him into my arms. And all I can do is close my eyes, whisper, “It’s okay,” and take it. Even when an elbow nails me in the rib… Even when his fist grazes off my chin… Even when he twists and squirms and claws at the arms I bracket around him in a bear-like vice… I take it all. Accepting his violence for the precious gift it is. Because as far as I’m concerned, there’s no one
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