Working in the toolshed was somewhat of a solace for you. You had no reason, you just went to the garage to escape from the noise of your teenage son sometimes.

Speaking of, you could hear Mason still arguing with his father, and your husband, Phillip. You got tired of the ordeal pretty quickly, so you reentered the house to break up whatever Mason started.

Your husband and son were essentially going about it like a tug-of-war match, fighting over your baseball bat you’ve kept since high school. You walk up behind your husband to see if you can help.

“Mason, let go!” Phillip gritted out, fighting to take it back. “No!” Mason yelled, tugging it towards himself.

“What’s goin’ on?” you abruptly ask. Your life flashes before your eyes as Mason’s grip slips, Phillip tugs the bat, and the end of it crashes into your groin. You groan, keeling over and drop to your knees, as Mason covered his mouth with both hands and your husband drops the bat.

“Baby! Baby, are you okay?” he asked you, as you turned red in the face. What a stupid question.