ZEUSThe day I came home from school and found my mother lying lifeless on the kitchen floor was still etched into my memory like a scar that never fades. My father, a drunk even then, barely acknowledged her death. From the funeral to the burial, he remained the same. A man drowning in alcohol and indifference. He already had a mistress outside our home, along with a daughter, so my mother’s death meant nothing to him. But for me, it changed everything. That was the day I became the new target of his abuse.By the age of thirteen, I had already grown accustomed to a life of servitude. Every day, I woke up early to cook, clean, and take care of the house before and after school. Every night, I braced myself for the beating that followed my father’s drunken return.That night was no different. I left the
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