The last time was not the first time. My father was attempting to break both my mother’s arms off, and in trying to help my Mum he tried to throw me through our glass sliding doors.
The floor was wet, a result of the beverage that Mum was preparing being knocked off the kitchen counter as she was manhandled to the floor by a man who was lost to an alcohol induced rage. Black eyes, screaming, crying siblings. A small boy unable to save his mother properly. These are my memories, but we got away that night.
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