At 2:00 a.m., my stepfather kicked down the door to my Navy apartment and beat me so badly I could barely stand. The military police officer stood in my broken doorway with one hand near his radio and his eyes moving fast.
By sunrise, Lieutenant Ava Reynolds knew the door had not been the only thing broken. The apartment door could be replaced. The split frame could be sanded, reinforced, and painted. The cracked phone could be bagged as evidence and later exchanged for a new one. The bruises would darken, bloom, ache, and eventually fade according…