“Between you, me, and the wall, I don’t know what to do.” His guttural voice seeped through the walls.
“… what wall, Hank?” Her tone was meek in comparison, barely audible.
“The one you’ve been building all these years, shutting me out.”
“The one I built? I did this?” Her voice grew louder, matching his for the first time. “Yeah, sure, Hank, I did this, I just tore us apart didn’t I? Must be all of the chores I’ve done, all the meals I’ve cooked, bills I’ve paid, all the years ironing your clothes and mowing your lawn and raising YOUR son. I’ve built such a wall, haven’t I? You’re the one who comes home late every night, stumbling through the door and slurring your words. And do you really think I believe in you ‘taking overtime’ every day when you’re barely scraping together 800 a week? Maybe you wouldn’t feel so disconnected if you ever gave that girlfriend a break and talked with your wife.” The silence after was deafening, but not as deafening as the slap that followed.
I pulled the covers over my head, trying to escape the glaring sound of his palm on her face. Her tears were muted now, through the wall and now through the blanket, but I could hear every shudder. My eyes welled up with tears of their own.

Why didn’t I go help her?

Why did I hide like a child?

Why am I so afraid?

Because I’m weak.

Because he’s always been right about me.

Because I could never be a real man.

Soon there was a cold silence from their bedroom, an unwavering stillness. The only noise being his loud remarks at the TV downstairs. I wanted to go to her, to hug her, or even just look at her so she knew I was there for her. But, was I? I wasn’t strong enough. I don’t want her to see that and feel the same shame that he does. So I willed myself to sleep, that sound replaying in my mind.

Light filtered through the slit between my curtains, and for just a moment, there was peace. But not even soft sunlight or the gentle awakening of songbirds could wipe my memory clean. Shouting ensued like usual, a man’s booming voice. But something was different this time. It lacked the sour hatred of my father’s tone, instead it sounded gratifying. Whatever this new voice meant, I knew I couldn’t be a bystander any longer.

I refuse to prove him right.

As my feet hit the chilled wood beneath me, I find the strength to open my door. Then, walking down the hall, family portraits glared at me with their counterfeit smiles. Now, the top of the stairs. The man’s voice continued, and it definitely wasn’t my father.
“Hank, I need you to cooperate with me, you’re being detained for domestic violence of the second degree. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law.”
He would never be able to stay silent.
The officer was struggling to keep my father on the ground, latching the handcuffs.
“Really, Shauna? Police? You just love to make a scene don’t you?” He chuckled sickly, shouting at my Mother who stood beside the door in fear. “I don’t know what she told you, officer, but she’s just looking for attention.”
My heart dropped when my eyes reached her face; a swollen lip, a bruised eye. Then they peered down at her body; purples bruises adorned her arms and collarbones.
The officer cuffed my father, standing him up and attempting to bring him outside.
“That’s right, boy. Stand there and do nothing, just like you always do.” Even in handcuffs he turned back to taunt me, but I guess he was right, I was still just a bystander. I let this happen to her.
The officer seized him and brought him out to the car, I slammed the door after him and broke down in my mother’s arms. I should be comforting her, but she was the one rubbing my back and shushing my tears.
“Mom, I-I’m so sorry.” I barely choked out the sentence, seeing his marks on her shattered everything in me.
“You have no reason to apologize, we’re gonna be okay now.” She looked at me with a smile but I could hear her voice breaking.
I wanted to say so many things, to comfort her. I wanted to ask so many questions, but I also think I already know what happened. She pulled her shawl back over her shoulders, cloaking the deep purple lesions. With a surprising amount of composure, she walked into the kitchen and started brewing a cup of coffee. Her feet treaded lightly, as if they were listening for him. She’s always moved like that, with a prominent awareness. Her hands moved shakily; reaching up to the cabinet or down to the drawer.

“I told him I was filing for divorce.” She said without turning towards me. Realizing I was still watching her from the door, I took a seat at the island. I didn’t really know what to say to her, so I just continued watching.
“Obviously he didn’t like the sound of that,” a nervous chuckle crept out, followed by silent tears.
“I’m sorry, Mom.” That’s all I could think to say? I’m sorry? It’s as if my mind and mouth have vendettas against each other, refusing to communicate openly. I want to tell her that I understand how hard that must’ve been, or that he has no right to lay a hand on her for any reason, or that I wish I could’ve been there to stop him. But, I don’t. I can’t. My lips stay pursed, all I can do is avert my gaze to the floor.
“It’s alright. I’ve always wanted to divorce, at least for the last eight years. But I never felt like I had the option. I just couldn’t take this anymore. Neither of us deserve this.” I nodded, trying to express my sympathy.
She moved to the seat next to me, her coffee’s steam releasing its warm aroma. Her eyes looked down into the mug, watching, but not drinking. I guess I’m kind of the same way. Watching, but not speaking. Not doing anything.
“I’m sure your father will take this to court, but I doubt he’d ever be granted freedom. There’s too much … evidence.” The dulcet tone of her voice may have hid her torment, but the physical state of her said everything.
“You don’t have to call him my father. He wasn’t much of one at all, just a man that lived here, I guess.” There was a long pause, I knew what I wanted to tell her. I’ve felt it for years, I’ve just never been able to get it out.

But if she could say what she said, and do what she did, then there’s no reason for me to be afraid.

“I hope you know that you ARE my Mom. You never had to step in, but you did. You did everything. Even with … him. You stayed. I know I don’t share things often, and I’m sorry. There’s so many things I want to say–that I’ve always wanted to say, that I didn’t. But I’ll try now. Thank you, Mom. I love you.”
Her face softened further, and her hand found its way over mine. That singular moment stretched into days, and all of the days prior replayed in my mind. I’m not even sure how old I was–two? Three? I was too young to understand when my mother passed away. But it wasn’t long until Shauna came to live with us. She was never obligated to be a Mom to me, but I think her heart was made to nurture. She stepped in and did everything my Dad never would. Now we can be a family without living in fear.

“I know, honey. I love you so much.”