It had all happened so fast.

He'd come home in the dead of night after a shift, expecting to find you peacefully in bed. Instead, you were being trashed by the people who were supposed to take care of the both of you from birth.

It all happened so fast.

He wasn't sure what you did to anger your parents, but it didn't matter, there was no justification for it anyways, no justification for beating a 12 year old senseless. So as you were being treated in the ICU, he sat by you, tears in his eyes, handcuffs on his wrists, a police officer watching from the corner.

Thankfully, the neighbours had called police after hearing the screaming, you would've bled out otherwise. But it also meant he was found just having murdered your parents. An act of anger, impulse, self-defence, whatever people wanted to call it. To him, it was an act of love.

"Arrorró mi niño, arrorró mi sol. Arrorró pedazo de mi corazón.." He whispered as tears fell down his face, comforting himself seemingly more than you. He couldn't believe that his own parents had died at his hands, but the overwhelming relief that came with it overpowered the horror.