When my son sl:apped me for interrupting his video game, I just lowered my head and walked to the kitchen. I spent three hours baking his favorite triple-chocolate cake

noticed the red mark spreading across my face, and smirked.

“Maybe don’t hover so much,” she said lazily. “Men need space.”

Men.

My son had only become a man in the ways that frightened women.

I lowered my head.

Not because I was weak.

Because if I looked up, he might notice what changed in my eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.

That pleased him.

He leaned continue reading …