35 "Harold, I refuse to let our son grow up to be a junkie creep like you."

Says:

"Harold, I refuse to let our son grow up to be a junkie creep like you."

“Shut up and eat woman. I ain’t no creep and that’s the end of this conversation,” said Harold and took another bite of his potatoes.

“But don’t you think--” she started, but was cut off as Harold hit the table. The flimsy fold out shook as two needles and a fork fell off the table.

“You made me drop my stuff again,” he said as he glared at her. He got out of his chair and walked over to her. “Don’t you dare talk back,” he shouted and backhanded her, knocking her out of her plastic chair.

She ran out of the room crying and into the baby’s room. She leaned against the wall and slid down the floor, sobbing. She looked at the crib, lit by the moonlight and cried even harder. This wasn’t the way a child was supposed to be raised.

She took the baby, wrapping it in its blanket, and opened the window. She was finally about to make a stand. She could hear her husband walking down the hall as she slipped out into the night. She started running, as fast as she could. She didn’t stop till daybreak.