Chapter 73

• Standing outside the window of my childhood home, I peered through the panes of glass, my heart heavy. My father stormed around the kitchen, pacing relentlessly, his voice a thunderous roar. His hands flailed wildly as he confronted Leonard, delivering a harsh shove that sent Leonard staggering backward. In the chaos, he collided with the table's corner, yelping in pain as he clutched his head. When he pulled his hand away, I saw the blood — a sight that made my stomach churn. I strained to hear my father's words, silently pleading with Leonard to stay down. Just stay down.
• My father erupted in fury, picking up a chair and hurling it at Leonard, who narrowly dodged the projectile. He then seized a glass from the table, flinging it against the basement door, sending shards skittering across the floor. With every step, my father's rage escalated, his hair wild and his eyes gleaming with a manic intensity I recognized all too well. I gasped, covering my mouth, as he overturned a chair and resumed his frantic pacing. He approached the basement door, kicking it with ferocity that splintered the wood and nearly dislodged the doorknob.
• As Leonard attempted to rise, I wasn't sure if he heard my desperate, silent prayers for him to stay down, but he remained frozen. My father continued his destruction, sweeping everything off the counter in a brutal display of rage. Then he towered over Leonard, yelling and poking at him before delivering a sharp slap to the side of his head — a painful reminder of what I, too, had endured. Leonard's expression was one of sheer terror; he was aware of the horrors I faced, but experiencing it firsthand was a different kind of torture.