That night, standing in their Brooklyn apartment, the blue of Bobby's uniform looked like a stain to her, and the -and- blue marks she was hiding were a cage. She realized that staying for the sake of a "family" was just another way of teaching her son to tolerate the intolerable. She chose to run.
If you'd like a different type of story, let me know if you prefer one focusing on: (like the movie with Naomie Harris) black and blue
The bruise on Fran’s ribcage was a deep, artistic mix of , a silent testament to the night Bobby—her husband, the man who wore the blue uniform of the NYPD—turned his anger on her. That night, standing in their Brooklyn apartment, the
But this time, the bruise was not just on her body. It was in her son’s eyes. Ten-year-old Robert had seen too much. If you'd like a different type of story,
Stories of overcoming intense personal or systemic trauma.
Stories exploring tension between one’s public role and private reality (e.g., in law enforcement).
For ten years, Fran had been an ER nurse, patching up the casualties of life, while secretly hiding her own. She made excuses: “I fell,” “The door slammed on my arm,” while she secretly tried to put together the pieces of a life that felt increasingly shattered.