As I sat in the darkness, the memories came flooding back. The sound of the door banging, the screams, the tears. My mother’s face, etched with pain and fear. My father’s eyes, filled with anger and hatred. The smell of alcohol, the stench of bitterness. We were never his children, not really. We were just two innocent souls, caught in the crossfire of his resentment and anger. My mother, the only breadwinner, worked tirelessly to provide for us, but it was never enough. He would lash out at her, at us, with a ferocity that left us cowering in fear. The slightest mistake would trigger his wrath, and we would pay the price.

But she stayed. She stayed for us, for love. She believed that he would change, that he would finally see the beauty in our small family. She thought that if she worked hard enough, loved enough, he would finally be happy. But he never did. And one fateful night, he took it too far. I remember the sound of her screams, the way he strangled her, whipped her, betrayed her. I remember the feeling of helplessness, of being trapped in a nightmare from which I couldn’t wake up. My sister and I huddled together, frozen in terror, as our mother’s life slipped away.

And when it was all over, when the silence was deafening, I knew that I would never be the same again. The weight of love, the weight of sacrifice, had crushed me. My mother had given her life for us, and I was left to pick up the pieces. But even in the midst of all that pain, I knew that I had to keep moving forward. For her, for us, I had to find a way to heal, to forgive, to love again. It wouldn’t be easy, but I knew that I had to try.

As I sat in the darkness, the memories still lingered, but I knew that I was no longer trapped. I was free, free to love, to live, to remember. And with that knowledge, I began to heal, to find my way out of the shadows and into the light. I started to rebuild my life, to find solace in the love of my sister, my friends, and my community. I learned to forgive, not for his sake, but for mine. I learned to love again, to cherish the beauty in the world, and to never let the weight of love crush me again. The scars still remain, but they are a reminder of the strength I have found. I am a survivor, a warrior, a child of love. And I will always carry my mother’s memory with me, a reminder of the power of love and sacrifice.