when amy dunne said “my father, a mid-level phone company manager who treated my mother at best like an incompetent employee. at worst? he never beat her, but his pure, inarticulate fury would fill the house for days, weeks, at a time, making the air humid, hard to breathe, my father stalking around with his lower jaw jutting out, giving him the look of a wounded, vengeful boxer, grinding his teeth so loud you could hear it across the room. throwing things near her but not exactly at her. i’m sure he told himself: i never hit her. i’m sure because of this technicality he never saw himself as an abuser. but he turned our family life into an endless road trip with bad directions and a rage-clenched driver, a vacation that never got a chance to be fun. don’t make me turn this car around. please, really, turn it around.”
Arctic Fox
