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Little Anthony watched. He could only watch. Hidden behind the sofa, peeking out with one eye; like they were playing peek-a-boo. But this wasn't a game. Each time Papa hit Mama, little Anthony flinched. Recoiled. Cried silently. He didn't dare be loud. Not to this man he still called Papa.
After two weeks away, Papa returned. Mama served dinner, he sniffed the food, then hurled it to the ground.
"How dare you serve me this?" Papa barked.
"It's all we had," Mama said, voice trembling.
"All we had?!" Papa mocked, rising with fury.
His hand shot up, ready to strike another blow. But little Anthony jumped between them, clutching Papa's trousers.
"Get out of the way, boy!"
"No, Papa!" Little Anthony screamed. "No more abuse!"
This just added fuel to the fire. Papa snapped. He shook little Anthony like a dog with a tick and flung him aside. Little Anthony hit the floor hard. Blacked out.
When he woke up in a hospital bed, Mama was by his side, crying. Papa paced the room, like a storm waiting to break.
Little Anthony opened his eyes and whispered, "Papa... Mama... please no more abuse," before he slipped into unconciousness.
Thank you for reading❤️.
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