I couldn't see him but I still felt and heard his rage as it made its way into my room. I heard the swift blow he directed towards her, the woman who tolerated him for more than twenty years, my mother. I heard my two older sisters and my mother shouting at him, trying to fight back. I heard my dad's shouts fill the kitchen, which was once a place filled with happiness. As I heard the screaming and commotion, I stood in my bedroom, staring at my opened door. I was just in 5th grade and I froze. I was just in 5th grade and I couldn't comprehend what I was hearing. I shivered as I heard my father push my sisters to the side. As his eyes set on my mom and he socked her on her arm. When he marked her with a bruise that turned her skin purple. I was just in 5th grade and only 10 years old when I experienced my own dad hit the woman he loved.    
    

While I was growing up, my parents constantly argued yet these arguments were never physical. Before the incident, at times, the atmosphere in our family had grown tense as their arguments resulted in days, and, sometimes even weeks of silence. They completely ignored each other as if they were strangers and avoided being in the same room. My dad found shelter in his closet room and my mom found home everywhere else. My siblings were used to these silent periods but for me, as their youngest child, it became a lonely and unwanted life. But there were still times we spent as a family, when we would gather around the kitchen table and enjoy one of my mom's famous Honduran meals. 
    

I had been excited when I came home from school that day because I was ready to tell him how well I had done on my math test. My dad would always look at me and say how proud I made him as a father when I succeeded in school. It was this drive to satisfy him that pushed me to achieve in elementary school and middle school and continues to push me today in high school. When he had seen my score he promised to take me to Yogurtland after dinner and as a child who only thought of sweets, I was overjoyed to hear the news. As I happily talked to my dad, my mother walked in. Instantly, they began to argue about a renter from the building, as they were both in charge of all twenty-nine apartments. I remained seated on my bed as they shouted angrily at one another. My mom ended it by calling my dad "stupid" and she slammed the door behind her. When I looked up, I saw my dad storm after her. Before I could tell myself, “It's all over now,” it seemed as if his body morphed into a bloody beast that was on its hunt for its prey. I could see how its eyes evoked his rage as he focused them on her. I could see a man who would regret the next action he would take. I was too frightened to chase after them and remained in my bedroom, listening to the fight through the door my dad had left unclosed.    
    

My sisters shouted and tried to use every bit of their strength to push away the beast from attacking our mother, they told me after the incident. They told me its grasp was too powerful and soon they turned into its prey as well. They were pushed away as it focused its rage on the person who had sparked his evil nature. He attacked her with a might that was fueled by the wickedness of his aura. When he had finished his hunt, he vanished before my mother and sisters had time to recover. It was almost as if he felt so much guilt, he couldn’t bear to see the faces of his kids and wife, as if he felt scared to drown in our judgements, stares, hatred and anger.  
    

As I came out of hiding, I saw the destruction he had caused in our home, how he had drawn the anger of the world into our home. A home that I had never seen as a dangerous place, but instead a shelter from the outside world. When my father had returned just a few hours later, he locked himself in his closet room. The following day, the police came and my mom, with the support of my older brother, filed a report against the man who had placed a hand on her. As they arrested him I could see the regret on his face. I felt sorry for him because he was a man who had tried to base his life on Christian values yet he  had let his temperament get the better of him. I felt sorry because he would be lonely; none of us would ever forget the moment he hurt our mother.      
    

When the police came that day, I knew our lives would take a heartbreaking turn, a transition during which I had to remain strong for both myself and my family. I visited my father every Saturday at his new apartment and over time, he began improving and settling his life back together again. I had faith that God would help us through these tough times. I knew that He would be there by our sides as we faced a life without the leader of our family. We prepared to have a new leader who could teach us about strength, hard work and maturity: our mother. We took care of each other as a family. While both of my sisters were emotionally distressed at times, I was there to cheer them up. I would make jokes, act out crazy roles or sing in order to bring back the smiles they had once used to make me happy. We were there for each other and most importantly, for our mom. What had occurred helped us realize that without the support of one another, we couldn't leave the past and create a better future for ourselves.    
    

To do that, I needed strength; strength to help me persevere through the times I saw my mom crying, lost in a world of pain. A strength that allowed me to care for her, hug her when I knew she felt cold and make her proud when I showed her my report cards.  
    

When we had found our own happiness without my dad, it was a happiness that wasn’t meant to last. After two years on our own, my mom forgave my dad and he returned to our home. Their relationship began to suffer; they would talk for a month and then ignore each other for two months. I didn't understand. Why hadn’t forgiveness stopped the constant arguments and shouting they had tortured us with? Why couldn't it just be all over? It was an atmosphere once again filled with the hatred and the conflicted minds of both of my parents.  
    

But that sad day in 5th grade will never leave me and in its aftermath I gained a greater sense of maturity. I learned how to prepare myself for anything that tried to challenge me. To this day, I ignore the issues I face at home and focus on school. I continue on the path I've set for myself, blocking out the screams of my parents in order to hear God's voice as he guides me through my future.