“I’m not going in that house with you, Beau Barnett,” she screams when I slow to a stop outside the house. “Sure you are, baby girl,” I say, unlocking and opening the door. It takes a little maneuvering when she’s still kicking and flailing, but I manage to climb out and fling her over my shoulder without even breaking a sweat. She’s so tiny, I doubt there’s anything she could do to actually hurt me.
This reads like that current tiktok trend of revealing "cute" stories about how your grandparents got together only to find out your grandma was actually a victim. Jesus.
