Wednesday evening, I came home to Donald puking in the toilet. He had eaten every sweet in the house. Stace was locked in her room, which had been her...normal, until our home had been invaded.“Those painkillers hardly take the edge off of my back. They’re doing nothing for my aching head!” He almost yelled. He was pale and sweating.“Then we’ll go to the hospital.”“NO!” He shouted. “I’ll get through this.”I had to sleep on the broken couch, while he writhed, agonized on our marriage bed. He woke. "What do you mean? You told me that you two played. I thought that was what you meant, sex play." I didn't understand Brenda's reaction. I watched her, and I could easily see that she was mad, really mad. I wasn't sure why what I'd said had caused it, and I was going to be quiet until she cleared things up for me. In the meantime, Emily had started crying, turning over on her side, and facing away from us."Emily does it to me. She likes doing it. I let her. I thought you understood that.". More

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