"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