A man fresh out of prison justifies five years for beating the lover of his partner—“If I don’t do something, the boys’ll think I’m weak.” In the car after an NA meeting, the narrator challenges the cost of that instinct, but the lesson doesn’t land. Weeks later, reading about enslaved children sold away triggers a darker thought: if someone ever threatened to “sell” his own ten-year-old daughter, he’d do whatever it took—even decades in a cage.
He voices the hypothetical to his wife. She hears not protection, but threat—afraid he’s lost sight of who he’s protecting. In that silence, the gap opens: intention twisted into madness when spoken aloud. The real line isn’t violence versus peace—it’s instinct versus responsibility, reaction versus reason. Love, unanchored, can sound like danger. He’s still figuring out where his line sits. Damage reported.