When the Bough Breaks

Arms flailing, my adopted son George attempted to punch me, but instead he gained purchase on the cross I wore, and it flew off into a corner of the room. For years after, I was left with a souvenir of the tracks of his fingernails down my chest. When I adopted a little boy from Romania, I thought I was giving my son a brother and saving the life of a needy innocent. Instead, George came to us a like a wild animal hidden in the body of a boy. I'm not a victim and I'm not a hero. I'm just a mom who got plunged into a nightmare and lived to tell the tale. When the Bough Breaks sheds a light into that dark tunnel, where there seems to be no end to our children's troubles. This is my truth as I remember it. Welcome to my journey. --amazon.com.