Sophia’s P.O.V

I pressed my palms to my face, tears streaming down uncontrollably. “I can’t believe I did that. God, Martha, what kind of mother am I?”

“You’re a human mother,” she said simply, sweeping the last bits of glass into a dustpan. “Not a robot. Not a saint. Just human.”

“But I swore I’d never raise my hand against my kids,” I choked out. “Not after everything I went through. Not after how it felt with...”

Martha set the broom ...