At 2:27 a.m., My Dad Called: “Your Sister-in-Law Beat Me with a Baseball Bat—But She Told Police I Attacked Her Because I’m Mentally Ill”

to stay with her mother “until things calmed down,” which told me everything about how much she actually feared consequences.

We sat in his kitchen, the same kitchen where I’d eaten Thanksgiving dinner a dozen times, and Eric put his face in his hands.

“I didn’t hit him,” he said. “I want you to know that. I never touched him.”

“You didn’t have to,” I continue reading …