Having children means knowing real fear.

My child is hurt. She will not die. Not today. Probably not tomorrow. But she is hurt. Being hurt. And there is nothing I can do to protect her. I never knew fear like this. The fear that my child might cease to draw breath before I do. The fear that I can not help.

There is no creature more wretched, more tortured, than a mother unable to protect her child. Fear me.

A year ago, I lost my sense of safe in my house. I look over my shoulder now. I lock my doors at night. I am going to spend tonight alone in my house. I am afraid. And alone.