My stepfather, a jealous police officer, handcuffed me while I was on a secure phone call with the Pentagon. He pulled out his gun, shoved me to the ground, and yelled, “Who do you think you are?” Five minutes later, five black SUVs stormed in. Because—I am a general. – True Stories

the cup and smiled faintly. “Good.”

Frank was awaiting trial. My mother had moved into a rented room two towns over, selling jewelry to pay attorneys who no longer returned her calls.

And me?

I went back to work.

Not broken. Not scared. Not the little girl at the end of Frank Danner’s table.

A general.

A daughter who had finally stopped asking to be loved continue reading …