“He’s going to kill you, Mam,” I choked out. “Don’t you get that? Can’t you hear me? You’re going to die in this house. If you don’t get away from him, you’re going to die here. I can feel it in my bones…“ my voice cracked, and I choked back a sob, unwilling to shed tears. “Don’t you love yourself? Don’t you love me?” “Of course I do,” she sobbed softly, reaching across the table to place her small hand on my torn knuckles. “I love my children so much.” ‘I love my children’, not ‘I love you, Joey’. Typical.
