Question: Jon's back ached. Frost had come early this year and the ground broke like stone. Jon had spent eight seasons breaking this ground to plant spring's crops and every year it got harder. Sweat beaded on his brow and he felt his cotton shirt stick to his skin under his coat. Jon took off his soft-brimmed hat and wiped his forehead. He examined the hat as he let his breath return. The hat had kept the burning sun and beating rain off his head for as long as Jon owned the farm. He wore it every day. It had been a gift given to him on the day he married Alasandra but he could not remember who gave it to him. Jon put it back on his head and pushed the tiller deep into the stubborn earth. Daven ran over the hill and down the cart path leading to their small cobblestone house. The boy had only left a short while ago and he held no sack with the bread and cheese his mother had told him to buy. Jon furrowed his brow. The boy continued to run and soon the wind carried his cry to his father's ears. "Papa! A carriage is coming! Two horses!" Jon's furrowed brow remained. Surely the boy meant a cart from a neighboring farm. No carriage made it out this far. "It's from the city! A soldier drives it!" Jon felt ice water flow over him. He turned to the house. "Sandra! Get the musket out of the pantry!" Jon saw his wife's face appear at one foggy window. Jon gestured wildly at her. "Get it!" They were too late. As Daven reached Jon, the black carriage already approached. A single figure sat on the bench, guiding the two brown horses down Jon's path. Who is Sandra? Pick the correct answer from the following options:  A. neighbor  B. sister  C. wife  D. not enough information
Answer: C

Question: I have never been a stop-and-smell-the-roses type of person. For me, there’s always something that has to be done. In fact, the biggest complaint that my husband and two children have about me is that I’m “always busy.” Seventeen years ago, when my oldest son was about a year old, he woke up in a very fussy mood. Instead of being his usual cheerful and compliant self, he just wanted to be cuddled. A mother’s dream, right? Well, not for me. There was too much to be done; I didn’t have time to hold him. I was well aware that in addition to some projects I was working on, there was laundry to be washed and ironed, breakfast dishes to do, a house that needed cleaning. My usual response would have been to try to coax my son into cheerfulness, or to put him back to bed to sleep it off. But it was clear that he was unwell, so against my usual inclination, I decided that I would just hold him. The chores could wait another day. So I settled into the recliner chair in the lounge room and held my son while he slept. I dozed occasionally too, waking up now and then to enjoy the feeling of snuggling my baby and looking at the world beyond the window. It was a cold day, but clear and sunny. The trees rustled in the gentle breeze, and birds and butterflies flitted about the garden. Inside, my son and I stayed snuggled together under a blanket for most of the day. He slept while I, for one of the few times in my life, just drank in the beauty of the world and the happiness of sharing this time with my son. Better mothers than I am must have done similar things many, many times with their children. But for me, this very small decision, this day of ‘laziness’, became a treasured memory. With whom did the author spend her day of laziness? Pick the correct answer from the following options:  A. not enough information  B. her two children  C. Her husband  D. John
Answer: D

Question: As a mother, I’m right now navigating the hardest moment with my two daughters and my son … I was raped at 15 and molested by a teacher from 15–16 … it took 13 years of fighting before I saw any justice for those crimes and it paled in comparison to having to live with that trauma for the last 25 years. I thought I had moved past it for the most part, thanks to supportive family and lots of counseling and medication to treat my treatment resistant depression I’ve struggled over the last 25 years. I will be 40 this year. My son, the oldest, turned 15 this year … the same age I was when it began. I see how young he is and recognized for the first time just how young I had been when I was abused. That was really hard for me, emotionally. Now, I look at my two girls, ages 9 and 3, and worry for their safety - probably more than I should, but understandable given what I went through. We have had lots of “body safety” talks and my older daughter understands the very basics of what I went through, mainly because I have spent a great part of this past year writing a memoir about my experiences and have begun speaking publicly about what I went through and what it means to be a survivor. This is challenging because it’s hard to talk about and explain to a child in a way that they understand without making them fear the world. I struggle with this often. I’ve chosen to use it as an opportunity to teach them about activism and the power of speaking the truth, what it means to be a survivor instead of a victim. I hope they grow up and see just how strong their mother is and how she has worked in the community to raise awareness and help others. Who was raped? Pick the correct answer from the following options:  A. The mom  B. The dad  C. The son  D. not enough information
Answer:
A