Ümmühan: I eye him, feeling more than a tad annoyed. “You know, it always amazes me that that’s the first question people ask.” I inhale a breath. “As if the blame lies on my mom and not on the man responsible. The man who beat his wife, snuck into his daughters’ rooms at night,” I rant, feeling my blood pressure rise. “It’s never, ‘Wow, what an awful human being he was. Your poor mom must have been terrified.’” I let him absorb this before I continue. “The blame always gets put on the victim or victims. Why is that?” I can tell I’ve stumped him. “It’s because,” I gather everything I have inside me so I can say this last bit, “society never wants to accept that monsters are real—just weak women.”

I eye him, feeling more than a tad annoyed. “You know, it always amazes me that that’s the first question people ask.” I inhale a breath. “As if the blame lies on my mom and not on the man responsible. The man who beat his wife, snuck into his daughters’ rooms at night,” I rant, feeling my blood pressure rise. “It’s never, ‘Wow, what an awful human being he was. Your poor mom must have been terrified.’” I let him absorb this before I continue. “The blame always gets put on the victim or victims. Why is that?” I can tell I’ve stumped him. “It’s because,” I gather everything I have inside me so I can say this last bit, “society never wants to accept that monsters are real—just weak women.”

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The Confidence of Wildflowers Micalea Smeltzer

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