Marriage: A Child's POV

Once I was seven years old

It was a normal day. I really don't remember much of it except for the incident that happened then.

The family was on my grandfather's farm, as was tradition during Christmas. All many aunts and uncles along with their families. I was seven. Still innocent and naive. Still unaware of the evil in the world.

My family was in their assigned room in the large farmhouse. My mother, father and baby brother (2 years old) were on the bed and myself and my baby sister (four years old) were playing on the floor. Perhaps I had subconsciously recognized something at my tender age. Maybe I just heard something off in my mother's tone of voice. However, whatever the reason, I had been watching my parents' interaction on the bed. Both lying on their backs and on their phones. Then mom asked the question that started it all.

"Let me see your phone."

I don't know what she had accidentally spied on my father's phone that made her ask that question, but when my father did not comply, she asked again. He refused again, still using his phone. She was getting agitated and I was becoming alert. My seven year old brain already knew that something was wrong. She asked again, this time reaching for the phone and that's when the tug of war started for the device.

I think about it now, how in that moment they both forgot about their children. Their son was on the bed they were wrestling on and their daughters were watching in fear. Why were mommy and daddy fighting?

I remember being frozen as I watched them try to pull the phone away from each other. I vaguely heard their voices getting louder, but it was as if I was under water. I realize now that I may have been panicking.

What made me break the surface and snap back to reality were the wails of my younger siblings. My brother, terrified, cried his lungs out. My sister was silent though her tears were, equally terrified. Without a thought in my head, I picked my little brother up off the bed and he clung to me. His chubby face streaked with tears and his little hands gripping my shirt tightly. I then took my sister's hand and made my way to the door.

"Elle don't go!" My mother.

"Elle go, take your siblings." My father.

Who did I listen to? My little heart was beating on overdrive. Mommy was always at home and she was scary when we didn't listen. She would shout at us. Daddy wasn't at home most of the time but he was fun and let us do fun stuff. I wanted to make him happy.

"Elle go!" Father.

"No don't go. If you go he won't give me the phone." Mother.

It's only later in life that I realized how messed up that was. All she wanted was the phone. I was struggling to choose but my grandmother chose for me. I only realized then that their shouts were loud enough for the whole house to hear. My grandmother came running and so did my uncle. He took my brother from me and that helped me decide. I picked up my little sister and left with him.

We hid out in my uncle's room for the rest of the day. Playing games and eating there. Only leaving to go to the toilet. No one came to check up on us. No one asked if we were okay. No adult wanted to acknowledge what happened, much less even ask themselves if it bothered the children. We were too young to understand right? We would forget about it eventually right?

That was the beginning. The first time I witnessed a fight between my parents and unfortunately, not the last.