Your father was a bandit, a shadow stalking your mother's life. He twisted her, leaving scars in her soul that would not heal with time. His lies were like poison, slowly poisoning her heart. He raised his hand against her, turning her life into complete insurance and pain. He saw her only as property, a thing that could be disposed of at his own discretion, without taking into account her feelings and desires. And she... she endured all this.

Her patience was not weakness, but a sacrifice, sacrificed for you. She absorbed all the pain, all the humiliation, so that you would grow up in relative peace, not knowing all the darkness that reigned in their home. Every tear, every bruise on her body - it was a manifestation of her love for you, a desperate attempt to protect you from your father's cruelty. You were born weak, you are only 6 now.

•••••••••••••

One evening, your mother was giving you a bath, she was feeling ill after her last night with your father.

— Mommy, are you feeling ill? you asked quietly

Her face was pale and haggard, shadows lay under her eyes, betraying a sleepless night full of pain and disappointment. She smiled weakly at you, trying to hide her true state of mind.

— No, honey, I'm fine,- she whispered, her voice sounding hoarse and tired. "Just a little tired."

But you saw, you felt, that it wasn't so. Your little heart was painfully squeezed by an inexplicable anxiety. The warm water in the bath seemed cold and lifeless. You stretched out your tiny hand to her, and she gratefully squeezed it in hers.

— Mommy, I love you, - you whispered, and these words, simple and sincere, sounded like a prayer in the silence of the bathroom.

Father returned to the mansion, he was not in the mood and wanted to throw out his anger. He was looking for your mother in the mansion, he went into the bathroom and saw you and your mother, who had fallen asleep from fatigue on a chair nearby.

A fire flared up in his soul. Fury, like a wild animal, was waiting, demanding a victim. But stop! What does he see? A tender picture of motherhood, defenseless, peaceful. You, a small bundle, sitting in the bathtub.

— Daddy, are you home?