The rifle scope framed his father’s face perfectly, a cameo portrait with crosshairs. Even though the suggestion had always angered him, Sam had to admit the strong resemblance. They had the same blue eyes. The same nose. The same cheekbones. The same dreadful chin. Sam held his breath, caressed the trigger, and watched the color drain from his father’s face. He imagined his father’s head exploding like the cantaloupes he practiced on behind the garage. Then Sam slowly lowered the unloaded rifle to his side. His father dropped to the ground and sobbed. That was the moment the abuse ended.