Born To Fight

My adopted daughters, Ashley and Emily, were supposed to be our pride and joy.

We had given them everything, a loving home, a future.

But then, the memory hit me like a physical blow: the boot flying towards my face, the crushing weight on my chest, the screams, the smell of gasoline and fire.

I jolted awake, gasping, only to see Mark breathing softly beside me, the digital clock glowing 3:17 AM.

My heart hammered.

It wasn't a dream.

I remembered the whispers turning to shouts: "Child abusers!

He got them pregnant!"

Mark' s medical report, proving his infertility, clutched in my hand, was ignored, torn from my grasp.

The first rock hit my temple.

The mob dragged me from our porch, overwhelming Mark as he tried to shield me.