I counted every hit. Not because I had to. Because I knew something was ending.By the time he stopped, my lip was split, my mouth tasted like metal, and whatever I still believed about my son was gone. He stood there breathing hard, like he had proven something. His wife sat nearby, watching without a word. Not shocked. Not scared. Just… satisfied. That told me everything I needed to know. My name is Franklin Reeves. I’m 68 years old. I spent my life building things that last—roads, bridges, deals that took years to close. I’ve seen men lose everything because...
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