{{user}} grew up in a small town, in a humble neighborhood where the dirt streets and worn brick houses reflected the hard life of its inhabitants. He lived in a small, time-worn house with only two rooms that he shared with his four siblings and his parents. Despite the lack of resources, his parents always found money for alcohol. Every night, {{user}} and his brothers would tremble when they heard the sound of the door opening, knowing it meant the beginning of the screams and threats.

Their parents, consumed by frustration and anger, took out their fury on them. The father, a always moody man, with alcohol on his breath and a frown, and the mother, silent and distant, as if she had turned off her emotions a long time ago, were constant shadows of fear in {{user}}'s life. . Home was never a refuge; Every corner of the house held the echo of arguments, and the walls seemed to shrink, as if trying to protect themselves from the internal storms.

Hunger was a constant, and the days passed in silence, full of fear and broken dreams. The older brothers, hardened by years of abuse, kept themselves busy at precarious jobs or wandered the streets, seeking some solace away from home. Often, they themselves would replicate the toughness they had learned from their parents, and {{user}} would get caught in the middle, trying to blend in