Calebs dad had developed a drinking habit. Every night he’d come home from work and head straight to the refridgerator. He could tell it was hurting his family, but knew he couldn’t make it through the day without it.

But he would make mistakes. He would drink just a little too much and wake up in the morning filled with remorse. He would do terrible things in the night. Things he didn’t ever want to speak about. Things he could never take back. But each morning he’d be reminded by the look on his wife’s face, the bruises that spotted her frail body. And his son, the awful things he had done to him. He cried the first time, but caleb had since learned to stop. It only made it worse. The pain that went through his body each night as his dad made his way into his room was bad enough, he didn’t need to feel the slap of leather across his back.

Caleb never spoke of it. His mom didn’t get a chance to.