“What I know for certain is that you went to school, and you came back soaking wet, with a huge bump on your forehead and blood all over.” Goose bumps prickle my arms as the image of me engulfed by the water flashes: a little boy who looks a lot like Terrell dragging me back, screaming that cracks the walls of my brain. “I asked Jack—about what happened, why you were wet, bloody, beaten. I don’t usually ask; I know you don’t like me to ask, but you’re my child and you were hurt.” Her voice breaks at the end, but she looks at me, hard-eyed, like she doesn’t want to show weakness. Even her back
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