I spent years on the couch; not the shrink couch, just my couch. In front of the TV, eating Poptarts and crying into my cat.
Your twenty-year-old unmarried daughter, in her second year of college, is pregnant and wants to have an abortion.
Hold on.
The father of the baby is a convicted felon, out on parole.
Hold on.
The agony becomes yours and the walls of your home can barely contain the vacuum that your heart has evolved into.
Hold on.
You haven't seen your mother in nine years, or your childhood home in nearly twenty-five. If you can stand it, that is where you're headed. Even though it's where your father took his last breath when you were only twelve, and where your baby sister died in her crib, and where the existence of her was simply wiped away as if she had never been.
Hold on.
Because in the front room, there stirs another truth struggling to the surface.
A stolen life.
An innocent child horribly abused.
And one of your own may be a murderer.
Hold on.
The pieces are coming together, the voices are telling their stories, the emptiness is filling with the long hidden horror, passion, love and guilt. And you will know everything.
If you can just..
Hold on.