The room was dark, cloaked in a silence so thick it felt suffocating. George tossed restlessly in bed, his face tensed, drenched in sweat as the shadows of the past clawed their way into his dreams.A door slammed.A younger version of himself flinched.“Where the hell is she?!” his father’s voice roared through the house, thick with alcohol and venom.George stood frozen in the hallway, his small fists clenched. He was no more than thirteen, but already too familiar with the sound of glass shattering and his mother’s muffled cries.From the corner of the dim living room, he saw her his mother curled on the floor, trying to shield herself.“Don’t you ever talk back to me, woman!” his father bellowed, towering over her with eyes full of fury.George’s heart pounded against his ribs.“Stop it!” his voice cracked, but it rang out.His father turned, amused. “What did you say, boy?”George’s limbs trembled, but he stepped forward. “I said stop! Leave her alone!”Then came the slap. Sharp,
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