im afraid without my mother

I was six years old, at twelve o'clock at night, my father entered the house and started screaming. I woke up terrified because I knew what would happen to my mother that night. Every night, my father would start beating my mother until she lost consciousness, and he would go to sleep as if nothing had happened. I quickly left the room after I heard my mother’s strong screams, and I found my father carrying a wooden chair and my mother on the floor in the middle of a basin of blood. I approached her and began to hear the moans of her beautiful voice and my little hands trembling in fear,After a while, I no longer heard any sound my mother was making. Yes, my mother passed away before my eyes. My father whispered in my ear and said, “Don’t say anything about what I saw today, for you are only in a dream.” He grabbed me with all the force of his hand and took me into the room and locked the door. I could only hear the sound of the axe. He was beating hard in the garden of the house, so I started watching my father from a small crack in the window, and my eyes were filled with tears. I was seeing all the steps he had taken to bury my mother in the garden of the house. Days had passed since my mother died, and my father, as usual, would go out in the morning and come at night and start screaming. I was no longer... I wanted to leave my room. I didn't understand anything. I was just repeating one sentence, "I'm afraid without my mother.
On the second day of this incident, I heard a loud knock on the door of the house. My father was not at home, so I had to leave the room to open the door. When I opened the door, I found an old woman. It turns out that she had walked a long distance. She said, “Give me a glass of water, my son, for I will die of thirst.” I brought her in and gave her a glass of water, and she started talking to me. She said: Where is your mother, my son? I did not answer her. I was just saying, “I am afraid without my mother.” She asked me the same question again, and I told her that she was in the garden, sleeping there. The woman was surprised by what I say and she said, “Where is she, my son? I do not see anything.” I answered her, “She is now under the dirt in the garden.” The woman’s face became pale, and she said in a tone of fear, “How is that, my son?” So I told her everything that happened on that bad night. She then said, “Where is your father now?”
I said I don’t know. She said, “Come with me, son. We will tell the police everything.” She carried a small wallet containing a bottle of water and a piece of crusty bread that was in the kitchen. She held my hand and we headed to the police station. I told them everything and they went to inspect the place. Indeed, they found my mother’s body under the dirt. In the garden, my father came to the house. When he found the police in front of the house, he ran away, but the police caught him in the end and he was punished. That woman, her name was Aisha, did not abandon me. I went to live with her. She bought me everything I needed and made me look like her son.
Twenty years later, the woman who was a support and mother to me died. I cried a lot, and I remembered the moments I lived with her, as she compensated me for the mother I lost. I became involved in an association to reduce violence against women. I used to meet women who were subjected to violence and torture at the hands of their husbands, and whenever I saw them, I remembered all the bad memories that my mother had with that monster. Throughout these years, every time I went to sleep, I saw every detail of that accursed night, and I hear my mother's last voices before she lost her life. My father's looks have not been erased from my mind, which used to bring out the spark of evil and hatred. I will never forgive him for what he did to my mother.