We always knew when Daddy had been drinking. His key would rattle around in the lock until it almost broke – his dinner lying cold and uneaten on the table. We’d hear him cursing; we’d see our mother frowning.
‘Off to bed, children, now,’ she would tell us.
I always went without hesitating. I hated it when Daddy drunk. I’d stay hidden underneath the covers until the house went quiet.
Our mother couldn’t hide from him. She had to put up with Daddy through all of his moods. Yet, her smile remained just as bright the next morning, no matter the bruises.
These words form my entry into Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.
It’s an old prompt, but a new story. No re-treads on here!