I SAW BRUISES ON MY SON—AND HIS NEXT WORDS CHANGED EVERYTHING He always runs to me when I get home. Not tonight. Johnny just sat on the couch, in his PJs, staring at nothing. No TV. No toys. Just silence. Something was wrong. I flipped on the light—and nearly threw up. Bruises. Everywhere. Purple, red, black. Ribcage. Arms. His shin looked like it had been slammed in a car door. “Johnny?” My voice cracked. “What happened?” He flinched. Then whispered five words I’ll never forget. “It’s a secret