Leaving an Abusive Home

I’m 18 now, and my sibling is 16. We grew up with an abusive father,

though most people never would’ve guessed. From the outside, our family looked normal.

Inside the house, everything revolved around his temper. You learned to read the smallest signs.

His footsteps, the way he shut the door, the sound of his voice when he spoke

to our mom. Any of it could mean a bad night. Yelling was constant. Insults were routine.

He made us feel like burdens, like everything wrong in his life was our fault.

Sometimes the abuse was loud. Other times it was quiet and cutting. He could make you

feel worthless without raising his voice. Over time, it became normal, and that was the