The Two Lives Project

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Slaps, glass breaking...

My mother, crying, as submissively received the abuse from my step-father.

Patiently taking the blows for me and the harassment. Sound of the dishes falling to the ground.

I closed my ears when I heard my mother scream like she told me. It felt like it went on for days. I hid under the table in the living room and waited for the door to open.

The door opened.

My step-father stepped out of the kitchen and zipped up his pants. I closed my eyes, praying to God that he wouldn't see me.

I crawled out from under the table and into the kitchen when his footsteps faded and the front door opened.

My mother lay on the ground sobbing silently, bloody. Her skin was torn from scratched and bruised. Her eyes were closed but I knew they were bloodshot. Her clothes were in scraps.

I crawled to her side and curled my body to snuggle beside her frozen body on the cold floor not caring about the blood that stained my clothes.

My mother, whimpering in pain, turned over and wrapped her arms around me. She whispered into my ear. "Just a little more time, baby. We'll be free."

Even though the floor seemed cold my mother's whispers felt nice. My body felt nice and my insides warmed up. Nothing felt cold anymore. Her arms sheltered me.

If her one hand could do that, I could only imagine what magic both her hands could do. The warmth and comfort it provided. Though they were frail, they seemed stong.

It felt like my real home.

My mother is my home.

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