Me and my brother always sat next to Papa as he played the grand piano. As he and Mama sang, countless friends and family would whisper: “How lucky they are.”
I’d hug Papa, and he’d squeeze me back.
In those moments, I loved him so; I’d breathe in the pine cologne he wore only on those occasions.
I’d try to keep people at our home as long as possible. But eventually the door would close on the last guest and my family would be trapped in the home,
not with Papa, but with the man who beat us black and blue.
