It was night time and I heard shouting. Curious, I left my room and slowly walked down the hallway to see what was happening. I was small then, only a young child, watching my parents as they fought in the family room. They had no idea I was there, hidden against the wall. It was loud and there were tears but I could not make out words amidst all of the commotion. My sister was there with me, wanting to run to our parents. I held her back. It was not good for her to be there, watching as anger flew across the room and shattered the small wooden house on top of our television. I had to protect her, my little sister. So small and so helpless, she knew nothing but to run to our parents for help when trouble arose. But this time things were different. We had to run away from where our hearts were pulled. There was a white laundry basket on the floor by my father. I don’t know why my attention was drawn to it. Perhaps that is what they were fighting was about. Laundry, or maybe something else. I didn’t know. I was small then, only a young child, watching my parents as they fought in the family room. I had much to learn and have learned much since then.