“That Money Belongs To The Family,” Dad Roared, Swinging The Metal Wrench Into My Face. My Jawbone Br0ke In Four Places, Teeth Scattering Across The Driveway. I Photographed Everything Before Losing Consciousness. The Craniofacial ᴛʀᴀᴜᴍᴀ Consortium Convened… “Fourteen Surgeons Reviewing Weapon ᴀssᴀᴜʟᴛ With Permanent Disfigurement – Aggravated Battery Documentation.”

Mom had been cremated because she hated the idea of a flashy funeral, but she had specifically told me she wanted a nice marker next to her parents’ plot. We had driven past the cemetery a few months before she passed, and she had looked me dead in the eye and said, “Don’t let your father be cheap with my stone.”

That sentence had been looping in my head like a warning siren ever since the hospital.

Our father, Raymond, hadn’t lifted a single finger to help with the estate or the house, preferring to spend his time at his girlfriend Kimberly’s place on the other side of town. He only called once to ask if I had found Mom’s engagement ring yet, and when I told him I was busy sorting clothes, he got defensive.

“Well, I hope you’re keeping a tight record of the money, because that’s family property,” he barked into the phone.

I didn’t argue with him because I had spent my entire life watching Mom manage his moods like she was walking through a minefield. I remembered the sound of his voice rising during dinner and the way Mom would catch my eye, silently telling me to just keep my head down and finish my meal.