"Maturity struck me at a tender age, for I've endured experiences most people my age haven't faced."
My stepfather, Travis, yelled, "lucy!" I replied, "Yes, dad," accustomed to his outbursts whenever he was drunk.
"Make me a hot cup of black tea, now!" he ordered. I prepared the tea, handing it to him.
"Where's your mother?" he asked angrily.
"She went to fetch water," I replied.
"Go get your mother immediately!" he commanded.
As I ran to fetch her, my anger and hatred toward Travis grew. But what could I do? I was just a helpless 17-year-old.
"Mom!" I shouted. She rushed back with a jar of water on her head.
"What happened? Did your father come home?" she asked anxiously.
"Yes," I replied.
She grasped my hand, and we hurried home. Upon arrival, Travis began yelling and hitting her. I tried intervening, but it was futile. One blow sent me crashing down.
I woke up dizzy, with my mother tending to me.
"Mom," I whispered.
"Don't worry, Aishaa. Your dad isn't a bad person; he's just drunk," she reassured.
Silently, I soaked the wet towel that had been on my forehead.
"Mom, sit down. Let me tend to your wounds."
We sat in silence as I cared for her.
"Where's dad?" I asked, trembling.
"He's asleep. Don't fear; he'll wake up refreshed," she replied.
Later, Travis gently roused me.
"Lucy, I'm sorry for last night. I promise it won't happen again."
I nodded, knowing it was an empty promise.
"Go wash up; I've made breakfast."
"Okay," I replied.
In my heart, I knew Travis's love existed only without alcohol. If forced to choose between us and liquor, he'd pick the latter