The moment my wife screamed, I thought my father had done something unforgivable.
“HE HIT ME!”
Vanessa was lying on the living room carpet, clutching her cheek like someone had struck her with all their strength.
I dropped my keys and ran toward her.
“Vanessa! Baby, what happened?”
She reached for me with trembling fingers.
“Marcus, your father attacked me!”
I looked up.
My father stood beside the couch, frozen in disbelief.
At seventy years old, Arthur Bennett was still strong enough to work in his garden every morning. But I had never seen him look so helpless.