My father was a brute, a force of nature, as mindless and, in a way, as predictable as some large beast one had the misfortune of disturbing. But the injury I felt from my mother went deeper. It was more a puncture than a gash. It felt more personal and more cruel. Like many children from chaotic homes, even though my father was the flagrant abuser, my most unresolved feelings are reserved for the parent who refused to protect me. While I know intellectually that my feelings toward her might be unfair, they nevertheless remain less forgiving than those toward my dad. My father lashed out at us
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