It was late one night. Raining. Cold. I was five. My parents said everything was going to be fine. Parents lie.

I’ve tried my best to squash the memory down, to pretend like it was all some bad dream, but every once in a while- when I was listening to melancholy tune, or hiding in a dark and small place, or on quiet nights like this one, while I was lying on my side listening to the tap, tap, tap, of the rain- I would recall the banging on the door as my father rushed my brother, Soren, and me into the back of the closet.

The unlocking of the door, click.

The false cheer in my mother’s voice, “Sean! How is your wife?”

The gruff reply, “Don’t play dumb, just hand them over.”

The last words my father said, “Made wise concerning men.”

Tap, tap, tap.

Banging.

Shouting.

Metal scraping.

Glass breaking.

Silence.

Tap, tap, tap.

The door slamming.

My ragged sobbing.

Soren’s whisper, “It’ll all be alright. I’m here, I’ll always be here.”

Turns out brothers lie too.