Diary1: My Father.

It wasn't an unusual habit for Father to ab**se Mother violently.

But today was different: she was some weeks pregnant.

Even as we pounded our fists on the door, pleading, begging on Father to stop, but

only Mother's screams of anguish could be heard.

Aforetime, Father would hit Mother because of some unnecessary things we knew not of.

But today, we had just returned from church when he rushed after Mother into the room, locked the door and pounced on her.

"Father, please, don't beat Mother. She's pregnant. She may lose the child. " My younger sister, Vickie, pleaded.

The sound of his leather belt, kicks, blows drifted into my mind.

My heart was shattered that Father would do such a thing to our pregnant Mother.

The door flew open and Father dashed out in fury, drenched in his sweat. His eyes as red as fireballs.

He rashly grabbed his car keys from the dining table and rushed out.

We ran to Mother who laid on the floor in her pool of blood. She winced and gritted her teeth unwaveringly.

Her gown was soaked with blood that gushed out of her legs. Tears cascaded my eyes as I slung her fragile body over my shoulder.

"Don't hate your Father, John. He is a good man. It's just a matter of time. " Mother whispered into my ears.

Something she does any day Father was done whipping her.

"Vickie, call the nurse. Tell her we are on our way. " she nodded her head and ran off to do as instructed.

We reached a nearby clinic and Mother was admitted by a family nurse.

It was later announced to us that Mother had lost the baby along with so much blood.

As we walked home that evening with vacant looks and without Mother, we felt nothing, even as the heavy rain poured on us.

We trekked absent mindedly to our home.

Mother had a miscarriage. Again. The second time.

Father returned home the following day with a solemn expression which we were quite familiar with.
He dropped his head low and gazed at the ground, looking like he regretted his actions, of which he didn't.

"Where is your mother? he questioned silently.

We stared at him with blank faces and he kept on repeating same questions.

We were done with Father, but he wasn't done with Mother.

In the next few years, Father didn't stop the domestic violence. Thereby, making her lose more pregnancies.

On several occasions, I had tried my best to make Father ceased this habit, but he never stopped hitting her at the slightest provocation.

Vickie and I soon left for college and graduated after some years and left Mother with Father.

Mother endured her the helḹ she called marriage and was tortured by the monsteṝ for many years.

Thirteen years to come, we stood by the side of the grave as Mother's body was lowered six feet under the ground.

"Till we meet to part no more. " the priest read to the mourners at the burial ground.

Father, Vickie, Semi who was my fiancée and I watched keenly as her wrapped body was carried by hefty men into the deep hole.

I turned to Father who had suddenly found something interesting on the ground and was wiping his fakeđ tears with his white handkerchief.

The bitterness that boiled in my heart didn't allow me unleash my anger on him.

A few months later, I married Semi. I brought her home after paying her bride price according to the customs and traditions of our people.

Just one day, she raised her voice on me during our arguments. I tried to calm down but I couldn't, for, I wasn't brought up in such a manner.

"You are mađ, John. I said you are sick. Useless good for nothing idiot. " She curseď.

"I am an idiot? " I approached her in anger but she fled with fear evident on her face and ran into the room while I pursued her.

I locked the door and unbuckled my belt, and pounced on her.