Shelyn sat on the worn carpet of her dimly lit room, her small frame curled up like a wilting flower. The walls, once painted a cheerful yellow, were now dulled by years of neglect. She could hear the muffled sounds of her father's anger seeping through the walls—a low rumble that escalated into a thunderous roar. It made her stomach twist in knots.
Outside her door, her mother, Katherina, was being scolded again, her cries piercing the suffocating silence that enveloped their home. Shelyn squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her palms against her ears, but the sound still found a way in. It always did. The knocking on the wall, followed by another shout from Zechariah, echoed through her mind like a haunting melody.
Unable to bear it any longer, Shelyn stood up and padded quietly to her mother's room. The door creaked open, revealing a scene she had grown accustomed to: Katherina sat on the edge of the bed, her face streaked with tears, the remnants of her strength crumbling away. Shelyn felt a rush of fear but also a deep, instinctual need to comfort her mother.
"Mommy?" She whispered, her voice barely audible.
Katherina looked up, her eyes wide with a mix of despair and fear. "Shelyn, sweetheart, you shouldn't be here," she said, her voice trembling.
But it was too late. The sight of her mother, once vibrant and full of life, now reduced to a shadow of herself, broke something inside Shelyn. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she rushed forward, wrapping her small arms around Katherina. "I'm scared, Mommy," she cried, her voice rising in pitch.
"Shh, please," Katherina whispered urgently, pulling her daughter closer. "You have to be quiet, or he'll hear you. If you cry too loud, he might come in here.
"In that moment, Shelyn learned her first painful lesson: never cry loudly. The weight of that lesson settled heavily on her heart. She nodded, wiping her tears on her sleeve, trying to stifle the sobs that threatened to escape.
Katherina's eyes filled with sorrow, and for a fleeting moment, they shared an unspoken understanding—their lives were trapped in a cycle of fear. Zechariah's rage was a storm that loomed over their home, and they were its unwilling captives. Katherina endured the torment, believing she had no other choice; the thought of leaving, of facing the world alone with her daughters, felt insurmountable.
"Mommy, why does he do this?" Shelyn asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Katherina hesitated, her expression pained. "Sometimes, people hurt others because they're hurting themselves. It's wrong, but we have to be strong. I need you to be strong for me, okay?"
Shelyn nodded, though the confusion swirled in her mind like a tempest. Strength felt like a heavy cloak draped over her tiny shoulders. In the days that followed, she would learn to suppress her fears, to quiet her cries, and to hide her pain beneath a façade of silence.
As the yelling continued in the background, the little girl felt a deepening fear whenever she heard raised voices or the harsh knocking of fists against furniture. It became a trigger, a reminder of the chaos that defined her home.
Katherina brushed a tear from Shelyn's cheek and forced a small smile, a mask she wore to shield her daughter from the harsh reality of their lives. "Let's try to forget about it for a little while. How about we play a game?
"But as they sat together, pretending to be in a world far removed from their troubles, Shelyn couldn't shake the feeling of dread that loomed over her. She knew that behind the closed door, the storm raged on, and with each passing day, the innocence of her childhood slipped further away.