I tell him about my father’s mind games, his weaponized silences, the way he controls how my mother wears her hair, how she dresses, what she makes for dinner. How whenever she pushes back, no matter how small her rebellion, he tells her she’d be nothing without him, helpless, destitute, alone. How every time, she believes him and takes him back and tells me I ought to show my father some respect, he’s done so much for us, he loves us, really. She swears.
