“That Money Belongs To The Family,” Dad Roared, Swinging The Metal Wrench Into My Face. My Jawbone Br0ke In Four Places, Teeth Scattering Across The Driveway. I Photographed Everything Before Losing Consciousness. The Craniofacial ᴛʀᴀᴜᴍᴀ Consortium Convened… “Fourteen Surgeons Reviewing Weapon ᴀssᴀᴜʟᴛ With Permanent Disfigurement – Aggravated Battery Documentation.”

He lunged for the box, his fingers catching the corner of the lid and yanking it upward. The latch snapped, and a cloud of twenty-dollar bills exploded into the air, caught by the afternoon breeze.

We both scrambled for the money, crawling on the hot pavement like desperate animals while the cash skittered toward the street.

“This is mine!” he shouted, shoving me aside as he grabbed a handful of bills from under the table leg.

“It belongs to her memory!” I yelled back, my hands shaking as I tried to pin down a stack of tens near his front tire.

He stood up abruptly, his chest heaving, and for a second I thought he was going to walk away. Instead, he reached into the bed of his truck and pulled out a heavy, rusted pipe wrench he kept in his tool bag.

I didn’t even have time to scream before the world turned into a blinding flash of white light and a sickening, wet thud.

The sound was the worst part, a sharp crack that echoed inside my skull like a piece of dry wood snapping in half. I hit the concrete hard, the rough surface scraping the skin off my shoulder as my vision swam and turned a dark, bruised purple.