I was holding my newborn when my uncle walked into the hospital room and saw the marks on my neck.

father, Martin Price, stood by the window in a leather jacket, his heavy arms folded, smiling the way men smile when they think fear is something passed down through blood.

“Don’t look so dramatic, Nora,” Martin said. “Women get emotional after birth.”

Caleb’s mouth curved. “She tried to argue about the name. My son carries my name. My rules.”

My baby’s continue reading …