Shadows Of Vows

Emily(POV) "Dad, no! You're hurting her—get off of her! Please, let her go!" I screamed, my voice raw as tears streamed uncontrollably down my face. My breath caught as I watched my father's trembling hands tighten around my mother's neck. His skin reeked of whiskey, and his glazed, unfocused eyes told me he wasn’t fully there—lost in a rage only he could understand. My mother’s eyes bulged in terror, her face turning a terrifying shade of red as she struggled to breathe. "Stop!" I begged, grabbing his arm and trying to pull him away. But he shoved me off with a drunken, careless force. "Dad!" I screamed again, but he didn’t move—his stare locked on her with a chilling, empty intensity. In the corner of the room, my little brother Jason cowered, his small body trembling as heart-wrenching sobs escaped him. Tears fell freely down his cheeks, his fear so raw it gripped my soul. I turned to Beniah, my younger sister, who stood frozen nearby, her eyes wide, her lips quivering. "Beniah," I said quickly, trying to stay calm for them, "take Jason to your room. Lock the door. Don’t open it until I come. Keep him safe, okay?" She nodded silently, her face pale as she moved toward our brother. Gently, she wrapped her arms around him, whispering, “Come on, Jason… It’s okay. I’ll take care of you.” I watched them disappear down the hallway, the sound of the door clicking shut echoing like a final breath. Then came the lock. That soft, fateful click. I turned back, bracing myself for the horror still unfolding— But suddenly, it was gone. I jolted upright in bed, breath heaving, drenched in sweat. My heart thundered in my chest as my eyes darted around the room, searching for shadows that weren’t there. It took a moment to realize it had only been a dream. A vivid, merciless dream. But it wasn’t just a dream. It was a memory. A wound that never really healed—just buried itself deep enough to haunt me at night. I sat in the silence, trembling fingers rubbing at my eyes, as the images replayed over and over in my mind—Jason’s sobs, Beniah’s pale face, my mother’s gasps for air. The pain hadn’t faded with time. If anything, it had carved itself deeper into me. I sat there for what felt like forever, drowning in the storm of my thoughts. Finally, I threw back the covers and swung my legs over the side of the bed. Soft sunlight began to filter through the curtains. It was morning. And no matter how broken I felt inside, Beniah and Jason still needed me. They always had. I headed to the bathroom and flipped on the light, squinting against its harsh glare. My movements were automatic now, mechanical. I opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out a small bottle of pills. I swallowed two dry—no water, no hesitation—feeling the familiar bitter sting on my tongue. It was part of my daily ritual, a way to keep the emotions at bay. If I crumbled, who would hold everything together? I had to be strong—for Jason, for Beniah. For what was left of this broken family. As I made my way down the hallway, I passed by Mom's room. A sharp ache bloomed in my chest. Grief twisted into something darker—rage. I clenched my jaw, forcing myself not to look. But even in my peripheral vision, I could tell the room remained untouched. Like a shrine. Or a crime scene. Her scent lingered there, faint but familiar. I could almost hear her laugh, feel her warmth— But it was gone. She was gone. All because of him. My fists curled at my sides. She was dead because he failed—as a husband, and worse, as a father. I swallowed the lump rising in my throat and pushed the thoughts down. I couldn’t afford to feel, not right now. Just as I neared Jason’s room, soft noises caught my attention—coming from behind Mom's door. I stopped. The door was cracked open. My gut twisted before I even looked inside. Slowly, I leaned closer and peered through the gap. There he was—my father—seated casually at the edge of the bed. Her bed. A half-naked woman, draped across his lap, giggled as she whispered in his ear. His arm was wrapped around her waist like she belonged there. She didn’t. She was young—maybe even my age—with bleach-blonde hair, a tight, low-cut top, and eyes that met mine without hesitation. She smiled at me. Smug. Unbothered. My stomach churned with revulsion. It hadn’t even been a full month. Not even a month since my mother’s death, and here he was—already replacing her. In her bed. Her sanctuary. But honestly... why was I surprised? I wanted to scream, to rip the sheets off that bed and set the whole damn room on fire. Before I could turn away, his voice cut through my thoughts like a blade. “Emily. Come here,” he barked, cold and sharp, like I was a dog summoned to heel. I took a deep breath, already bracing myself for what this encounter would become. My face blanked, emotions sealed behind the mask I’d perfected. I stepped inside the room. The woman on his lap gave a mocking little laugh, whispering something into his ear. Her eyes never left mine. Judging. Jeering. My father didn’t react to her words. He just stared at me.