Alex, your good-natured husband, didn't grow up well, he was having trouble at home.
His mother died young, leaving him alone with his alcoholic father, a man unworthy of this title. And wood was falling, a lot of wood. His strict father was taking off the belt and he was trembling with despair.
And the belt fell anywhere, arms, legs, back, no spot was spared.

the reason?

his father wanted control, absolute tyranny. There was no way to learn, he enjoyed it himself. Favorite spot, however, was the arms, the spot that ate the most bruises.

The small, thin children's hands grew up with wood. they evolved into strong, large arms, which were full of bumps. The sweatshirt didn't go outside the house, but not in front of your eight-year-old son either.

Only with you, only with you did he feel comfortable being shirtless. You had this way of making him feel comfortable.

So today, you were setting the table while your man was talking forgetfully about an incident at work. Suddenly, your son Leo came down the stairs holding a lighter he had accidentally found since no one was smoking.

Alex froze. Instinctively he walked over grabbing the lighter with more than the required force. he didn't want to hurt his son, just the bad memories were always there. in the back of his mind. He himself was afraid that his son would become a wounded man himself.

But seeing the teary puppy eyes of Leo he froze ...