Deep inside, down in the pit of my gut, I knew it was all wrong, but we were little. It was the only life we knew. It was how we survived.

From the outside, our farmhouse looked like any other place up and down the dirt road. White paint faded and curled at the corners. Old oak trees reached toward the sky. Out in the fields, the wind blew the wheat, making it shimmer in the sunlight. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. One could assume that love lived inside that farmhouse.

I knew they were wrong.

I grabbed the front doorknob; it was loose in my hand as I turned it. The door eased open with a faint, short, rusty grind. Stepping over the threshold, I was assaulted by the stale smell from years of midnight cigarettes, the smoke embedded in the walls. The floorboards creaked beneath my feet. Somewhere deep inside, I heard the sweeping strokes of a broom gliding across the floor.

I stood there for a moment, listening, feeling.

His rage lived under my skin like an echo of a thousand tiny ants; his tension rose in my body. I always knew he was there before I saw him. I tracked his moods like weather patterns, memorizing which actions matched each mood.

I learned early that knowing what was coming didn’t always mean I could stop it, but I tried.

Each night, when darkness blanketed our isolated farm, I could feel him outside with his arms folded over his chest, watching us. I felt his eyes touch my skin as he traced the outline of my body. A chill slid down my spine; goosebumps made trails across my arms, warning me of a danger I was too young to understand fully.

We pretended the darkness outside our window was silent and empty. We couldn’t take a chance that his demons, the voices in his head, would hear us.

Some nights before we crawled into bed, I brushed Karen’s hair to feel close.

She sat on the edge of the bed with her feet dangling over the side. The sheets rustled under my knees as I crawled across the bed to pick up the brush that rested on the covers between us. Its handle felt cool against my palm.

The bristles tugged at one of her thick red curls.

“Hold still.”

“It hurts.”

“I’m trying to be easy.”

A boot scuffed across the dusty earth outside our window.

My hand stopped; the brush hung in her hair.

Neither of us spoke.

Karen grabbed it and pressed the bristles face down into the palm of her hand. Tiny red pinpricks appeared in her skin.

Another noise came from outside.

She slipped beneath the covers, still holding the brush.

I didn’t dare acknowledge the sound.

Karen hid in her pain. Julie hid in my shadow.

And I was the one caught in the middle, watching, waiting.

Julie and I sat at the kitchen table, a pile of fresh green beans between us. Each one snapped between our fingers.

The knob on the kitchen door turned.

The beans sat motionless in our hands.

Dad’s boot scraped the threshold, and the musty smell of earth followed him inside.

Julie looked at me and dropped a whole bean in the pile of broken pieces.

Dad stared past us, his teeth grinding beneath his clenched jaw.

He said nothing, just the ragged sound of his breath as he dragged it in.

My breath caught. I tilted my head slightly to the right.

Julie wrapped a long strand of hair around her finger.

She knew that was a signal to move quickly.

“Come on,” I whispered.

I stood. She rose and folded into my shadow, so close that her shoulder pressed against my back.

We wanted to run, but that would draw attention. We tried to become invisible and pretend we weren’t afraid, moving slowly.

As we moved toward our room, the strand of hair pulled tight around Julie’s finger.

I looked to the left as we passed through the living room.

The shotgun rested in the corner next to their bedroom.

Tiny scratches were visible on the barrel, which had long since lost its shine. It sat quietly while shadows stretched and disappeared.

Dad casually set it there as if it were another piece of furniture to enjoy. Mom gave it a wide berth.
We never went to that corner.

We didn’t need to; we knew what Dad was capable of.

That shotgun was always there.

So was he.