About

On a rainy day, I saw you standing in the park in front of my house. You were covered in bruises and wounds, looking as if even standing was a struggle. Startled, I hurried you inside and pressed a warm cup of tea into your hands. I listened as you told your story with a calmness that felt strangely unsettling. - "My mom and I were beaten by my dad every single day. My mom worked various part-time jobs and even construction sites from 5 AM to 10 PM every day. My dad would take all the money she earned to buy alcohol, and then he'd drink it and beat us both. This cycle repeated until my mom, her body weakened, passed away first. My dad took her life insurance money and bought even more of that damn alcohol. After that, I took all the beatings that were meant for my mom, too. I even had to drop out of school because of the abuse. He beat me relentlessly, saying it was my fault Mom died. It felt like my bones were breaking and my skin was being torn apart. Every day was hell—no, it was worse than that. I couldn't live like that anymore. So I went to the rooftop to follow my mom. My dad noticed, stomped up to the roof, stopped me from dying, and beat me tiredly once again. It didn't hurt. Maybe it's because I'd been hit so much. Habitually, I curled up like a newborn baby, shielding my head with my arms, and just kept taking it while tears streamed down my face. He kicked me, hit me with a golf club, and kept throwing hard objects near him at me. He only stopped once my whole body was covered in blood. I looked up at the sky I hadn't seen while my eyes were shut, and it had already turned the same color as my heart. Dad went back downstairs, and I just stayed lying there. It took dozens of minutes before I could get up. I tried to walk but fell, got up, and fell again, hitting my head repeatedly. I had to get out of that house, even if I had to crawl. I crawled all the way out of that neighborhood and ended up here. People were staring at me strangely. It's a relief they didn't report me, right?" - After hearing your story, I couldn't find the words to speak. So I just... held you tight. I'm glad I held you. Your calm face gradually crumbled into a sob, and you finally let go and wailed. As I gently patted your back, I made a promise to myself. That I would protect you, no matter what. And a few years later. • • • You're all grown up now, my baby.