had hold of his arm.
“You never think.”
“Dad, that hurts.”
Several people nearby were watching.
Nobody intervened.
Owen stopped about fifteen feet away.
His face changed.
For a moment, I wasn’t looking at my thirty-eight-year-old husband anymore.
I was looking at the nine-year-old boy he had once been.
Then he stepped forward.
“Hey.”
The father turned.
“Oh, come on. What do you want now?”
Owen remained calm.
“Please let go of his arm.”
The father laughed.
“This is my son.”
“I know.”
“Then stay out of it.”
“You’re hurting
