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I told her I wanted to go home, but she was hours away.

She told me to call my grandmother and have her come get us. I burst into tears just as my dad emerged from the house.

He criticized her for everything, including the way she dressed, cooked, and cleaned, while he sat on the couch watching TV.



I was scared and said to my cousin, "Let's go wait in the car." There, I made her lock all the doors and I called my mom.

I started pounding on the door, saying, "I need my brush." The door remained closed, so I turned to walk away and suddenly felt this sharp thwack on my scalp — he'd hurled the brush at me. The house felt oppressive when he was there, like there was no air to breathe. And he'd do things to spite my mom, like put a television set in the kitchen even though she specifically asked him not to.


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