I listened from the top of the stairs, hugging the wall like I always did when they fought. I could tell my father had been drinking, more than usual, which meant my mother would take the brunt of his irritation. If there was any left over, I might catch some punishment as well. I told her she didn’t have to defend me to him, that it didn’t bother me anymore, what he said about me, but she always smiled and hugged me tightly, telling me that she was my mother and it was her job to love me and loving me meant defending me to anyone, including my drunk of a father.
