I will never forget the day I first saw it. Father beating Mother with his bare hands. She cowered, refusing to defend herself. I saw it the next day. Then the next. And then again.
I couldn't tell anyone. There was no one I could talk to. Why? Because it would break Mother's heart, she'd never forgive me. Also, I was afraid.
The beatings went on and on. No part of Mother was without bruises. I finally made up my mind. I was still afraid, but enough was enough. This has gone on for too long.
I walked up to him - this man I called Father - his knuckles freshly torn on Mother's body. I fortify myself with a deep breath and ask..."Dad? Can I beat her too?"