My Mother Was Right All Along

My mom was a liar.

She said my dad hit her.

But every time she pulled up her sleeves, her skin was clear, without a single mark.

She'd cry and say, "He hit me again last night."

My dad would just stand by, sighing, "She's having another episode."

Arthur, my dad, was a high school principal, gentle and refined.

Everyone praised him as a good husband and father.

And my mom?

The neighbors said she was sick, Grandma Rose said it was postpartum depression, and doctors diagnosed paranoid delusion.

I believed them too.