I took a sip of my coffee. The air smelled like blooming jasmine and fresh-cut grass. I listened to the beautiful, unhindered, perfect sound of my son breathing, and I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that I would burn it all down again in a heartbeat.
My eight-year-old son was curled on the living room floor, fighting for breath after his twelve-year-old cousin be:at him hard enough to crack a rib. When I reached for my phone to call 911, my mother ripped it out of my hand and told me not to ruin my nephew’s future
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