Two

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You were only three when it happened.

Every night, after your mother put you in bed, you would hear screaming and crying. Your father screaming at your mama, and you couldn't help but peek.

You would grab my hand, and together we would walk to the stairwell where we would see the scene unfold.

But it was that night that scarred you forever.

Your dad took his empty scotch bottle and slammed down on your mother's head.

You ran to your room and curled into a ball, your hands clutching me as you cried, your tears running out before you were done grieving.

You didn't sleep that night.

You didn't sleep that night

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