It all started two years ago. That day will forever be etched in my memory as the day that I lost all control.
I walk into the kitchen to find my mom sitting, crying at the kitchen table. I drop my backpack with a thud and pull a chair up next to her.
“What did he do? What the hell did he do to you this time?” I whisper angrily. She sobs and shakes her head.
“Oh baby,” she sighs. “He’s gone. And he took Matty with him. I don’t know where he’s going or where he’s taking him.”
“Was he drinking?” She nods her head, tears spilling on the table. I push my self away and grab the phone and start dialing 911. She jumps up and knocks the phone out of my hand.
“Dave, no! You know he didn’t mean it, he’ll be back, it’ll all be okay! It was just a misunderstanding.” She looks at me pleadingly, with swollen eyes. I grab her by the wrist and pull up her sleeve, exposing her bruised arm.
“This is no misunderstanding. This is abuse.” I sit her back down and start dialing.