My six-year-old nephew reached my porch dragging one swollen leg across seven blocks of hot pavement while his three-year-old sister clung to the back of his shirt. He was dusty, shaking, and trying not to cry. The first thing he said was, “Aunt Tessa, June is hungry.” The second thing he said made me drop my keys.

"I am not afraid of you, Travis!" I shouted, taking a solid defensive stance in the narrow corridor.

Travis lunged forward, the knife slicing through the air with a deadly swish.

I dodged to the left, slamming the heavy brass candlestick with all my strength against his forearm. The metal struck his bone with a dull THACK, causing him to grunt in pain and drop the knife onto the hardwood floor.

He cursed violently, grabbing me by the collar of my sweater and slamming me against the hallway wall. My head hit the plaster, sending black spots dancing across my vision.

"You ruined my life!" Travis raged, his face inches from mine, his foul breath smelling of rain and cheap bourbon. "Where is Marlene?!"

Before he could strike me again, a loud, piercing sound echoed from the top of the stairs.

It was Bodie.

The six-year-old boy was standing at the top of the staircase, holding one of his wooden pediatric crutches like a heavy club in his small hands. His cast was visible beneath his pajamas, his small face pale, but his eyes burned with an incredible, desperate protective fury.

"Leave my Aunt Tessa alone!" Bodie screamed with all the strength in his young lungs.

He swung the heavy wooden crutch down with all his body weight, striking Travis squarely across the back of his head.

Travis stumbled forward, disoriented and bleeding from a gash on his crown.

That split second was all I needed.

I reached out, grabbed a heavy oak dining chair from the table, and slammed it against Travis's legs, knocking him off balance. He crashed heavily onto the floor, his head striking the brass doorstop at the base of the wall, knocking him unconscious.

Outside, the wailing shrieks of four police cruisers echoed down Oak Street. Red and blue lights flashed wildly through the front windows, illuminating the dark living room.

Four Dayton police officers burst through the front door with guns drawn, kicking the hunting knife away from Travis's limp hand and forcing his arms behind his back in heavy steel handcuffs.

Marlene ran down the stairs, sobbing hysterically, and threw her arms around me and Bodie, pulling us both against her chest as rain poured through the broken back door.

Bodie dropped his wooden crutch onto the floor, his small body shaking, but he didn't cry. He looked at me with those big, brave hazel eyes.

"I protected you, Aunt Tessa," Bodie whispered, his small voice trembling with pride.