that it was worse for them than for me. they had to see me fall, again and again. they were ones who had to look at me each day and try not to see the black eye or fat lip. they had to tell me once more why i was falling like this, and see my distress as i listened. for some reason, it was my sweet middle child who happened to see the most of them. the most sensitive one, that always seemed so unfair. and of course my husband lived in fear each time he (or i) left the house.
the mall just acting normally. if it were him 