The next was a ringing in my ears. One side of my face is stinging. I instinctively press my hand on it as if it could get rid of the pain. I look at mom. She is fuming.
Her face hard and reddened with anger. I feel another presence in the room—Dad.
He is standing in front of the kitchen entrance. He just came home. He is holding many bags. The ones containing the clothes he had bought for me.
"Welcome back honey. What are those you're holding? Are they gifts for me? It's not our anniversary yet." She says in a light welcoming tone. I stare at her, my anger and hatred for her brimming over the edge. This isn't the first time she had laid hands on me. But there is something more hurtful and different about this one that makes it more hurtful than the ones before. It is sitting in my chest like a splinter too deep to reach.
