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Telling T that h hit me in front of our daughter pretty much guaranteed I had to leave. He's a mandated reporter too. I kinda knew that, though I wasn't really aware in the moment. I had to tell him though. Couldn't keep that inside. It was the right thing. I've kept so much inside for so long.
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'...
At poor peace I sing
To you strangers (though song
Is a burning and crested act,
The fire of birds in
The world's turning wood,
For my sawn, splay sounds,)
...'
Dylan Thomas, Author's Prologue
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