A Memoir by Victoria Zeolla

A friend takes hold of my wrist, reads the black ink etched into my skin––my daily reminder to be strong, courageous. I can’t imagine you being afraid of anything, she says. Probably because she didn’t see Dad’s fists pounding the windshield from the outside. Mom, brother, me with restraining orders, an illusion of safety. The nightmares, even years after Dad turned to ash. Or later, husband’s diagnosis: rare and aggressive. Me, reading WebMD, 75% fatality rate, dropping to my knees. Our son, a baby who may never know his father. I run a thumb across the black ink, reciting scripture. 

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Victoria Zeolla is a writer, wife, and mom from Pittsburgh, PA. She can regularly be found talking to herself as she drafts her next novel.