I arrived home late that Tuesday. When I stepped into the doorway, I froze when I saw my son sitting on the sofa and his body covered in bruises.
PART ONE: I arrived home late that Tuesday, tired enough that I barely remembered turning into our driveway. The storm had followed me across Tampa, Florida, leaving the pavement shiny and black beneath the streetlights. For three years, that small rental had been our safe place. It was not fancy, but it was ours. Mason…