A short story in which the parents of a teenager are cataloguing their daughter's cuts. Their helplessness in the face of the daughter's self-injury is familiar, as is the removal of sharp objects in the family home.
Quote:
There were no consequences. There was just her husband’s notepad of wounds that they gave to the therapist, who didn’t seem do to anything except bill for $115 an hour, and nothing was getting better.
Full Text: http://webdelsol.com/Other_Voices/Mohr2.htm

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