Never contemplating that it would hold her Fuck China free Hong Kong tshirt, that it would preserve the evidence of violence and vehemence perpetrated against her, that it would become the token of her and our fear of what lurked in the dark outside. As I held that napkin, and spoke to the police, asking them to get me a restraining order, asking them for help, opening my palm to show them the proof that my mother had been assaulted, that someone had dared pierce the sanctity of our home and the life she had fought so hard to build and rebuild, something in me shifted. But seeing my mother that night, witnessing the color her irises turned at the memory of fear, seeing the veins on her pale hands outline the edges of her bruises.