In the morning when I would get up to get ready for school, I would sometimes see my dad mopping the hallway around the HHS Blue Pony Softball Shirt . He always had some excuse, like he’d spilled something or the ceiling was leaking, but I knew better. Something was coming out of my mom’s room. Some nights, I would sneak out of bed and peek my head out into the hallway. There was always, day and night, a light emitting from under the door. When I would watch from my room, I would see pauses in that light, interruptions, as though someone was moving around within. I always assumed it was my dad, as he spent most nights behind that thick wooden door.
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But it was the sounds that would send my mind wandering with images of all manner of violence and horror. Every now and again a scream would erupt from down the HHS Blue Pony Softball Shirt . It was guttural, intentional, the scream of a woman in fear for her life. There would be bangs, crashes, the sounds of things breaking. And my dad would emerge from my mom’s room, breathing heavily and wiping himself down with a towel, covered in either sweat or water or both or neither, something that made his silhouette glisten in the darkness. Then he would get the mop.