“Get off my brother!” Tadhg screamed as he held the tip of the knife to our father’s throat, hand steady as a rock, eyes locked on our father. “Tadhg, put down the knife,” Mam cried, moving slowly toward him. “Please, baby.” “Fuck you,” Tadhg shot back, never taking his eyes off our father. “Get. Off. My. Brother.” Do it, Tadhg, I silently prayed, make him stop forever. “Don’t be stupid, boy.” Dad laughed, but there was no humor in his voice now—just apprehension. Good. Be afraid.
