And in the morning I did something I had not expected of myself. I did not shout or wave my arms; I simply stood between him and Mom and calmly asked why he was humiliating her again.

Inside, everything tightened with terror, because I knew too well how such attempts end, but I no longer wanted to step back.

He flared up instantly. His face twisted, and the first blow landed on my chest so hard that I could barely stay on my feet.

After that, everything turned into a dull noise and pain that spread through my body in hot waves.

I felt something breaking inside me, felt the air stop obeying me, but I kept thinking of only one thing — as long as it would end for her.

I had called the police in advance, even before going into the kitchen. They burst into the house when I was already lying on the floor and could not take a full breath. They led him away in handcuffs despite his shouting and attempts to justify himself.

And during the next few hours, our entire small town retold with horror what had happened in our home.

At the hospital, I filed a report, and for the first time in many years, Mom told in detail what had been happening behind closed doors. The trial was short. He was convicted.

After that, our home became truly quiet. Mom got a job at the local cafeteria, where her dishes quickly became the most beloved.

I studied and took on any part-time work, firmly determined to enter university and build a life for us in which there would no longer be any place for fear.